#i know it was supposed to be temporary but she has saved me by just being here

[little-escapist]

I need to vent

#my sister got accepted to university in another town #and i'm so glad she got in and can start her life #the past year she's been so lost and alone #not she has a chance to start anew #but #i fear for myself #i know i'm not good at taking care of myself #so #i'm so scared of the autumn coming and her moving away #i know it was supposed to be temporary but she has saved me by just being here #i guess i'm just tired but i feel it all collapsing on me #she's leaving #my therapy support runs out in october and i don't know what will happen #my dearest most loved cat is dead #and i don't know how to look after myself

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l nine

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: When you find out that you’re pregnant, everything comes crumbling down around you.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE THAT HEAVILY IMPLIES DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. this chapter it also contains a very uncomfortable scene with reader and Luke, but despite the sexual nature of the scene, READER DOES NOT GET SA, BUT SHE DOES GET INJURED. INJURY there is a description of an injury as the result of DV HEAVILY IMPLYING STRANGULATION. PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. pregnancy, mentions of high risk pregnancy (not reader), mentions of child loss (not reader), mentions of pregnancy related symptoms (missed menstrual cycle, morning sickness), protective Tommy Miller, protective Joel, and last but certainly not least, feral Joel. this chapter is a lot, just proceed with caution if anything in bold can be a potential trigger for you.

word count: 11.8k

October, 2024

It’s the middle of October.

By now, the pain had become almost unbearable. Time certainly wasn’t healing the wound. 

If anything, time only seemed to be making it worse.

So, so much fucking worse. 

It drags, and you almost feel as if you’re paralyzed by it. But the only thing that you can do about it, about any of this, is just pretend. 

Pretend everything is okay.

Pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Pretend you don’t feel empty.

Pretend you don’t need him.

But you do need him. Oh, how you fucking need him.

The hole in your heart is growing bigger by the day, and only Joel Miller is capable of filling the void. Only he has the ability to make you feel whole again. Complete.

“Be honest with me—what does this look like?”

You pause your knitting and glance over at Maria.

With her due date approaching, you had offered to help her prepare for the baby’s arrival. At about six months, Maria was expected to give birth towards the middle of winter season, and instead of trading or having to use rations for certain baby items, like blankets, little socks and mittens, you’d decided to show her how to make them instead. Not only was it saving her from having to trade or use her rations on things that could easily be knitted, but it served as a decent, albeit temporary, distraction, giving your mind the chance to focus on something else other than how deeply you were hurting without Joel.

Tilting your head slightly, you eye the soft, butter yellow wool she’s holding in her hands. “Um, is that the start of another baby blanket?”

“No.” Maria’s face falls. “It’s supposed to be a hat.”

“Oh. Um.” You lean forward in the brown leather armchair you’re perched on, squinting hard at it as she holds it up. “Okay, yeah, I can kind of see the shape of it now. I can totally see it being a little hat for the baby.” She tosses you a knowing smile and you squirm slightly, heat prickling at your ears.

“I appreciate you lying to me.” She giggles and sets down her knitting needles beside her on the couch along with the ball of wool yarn. Leaning back, she places both hands on her belly and sighs. “At the very least this child will never go without a blanket seeing as blankets are all I’m capable of making.”

You flash her a small, but reassuring smile.

“You’ll get the hang of it, Maria, I promise. It just takes some practice, that’s all.”

“Well, now that Luke has put me on strict bed rest until I have the baby, I’m going to have all the time in the world to practice,” Maria remarks, exhaling another sigh. Craning her neck, she peers at your own knitting project, which you’ve been working on in something of a secretive manner in your lap and out of the expectant mother’s view. “What are you making over there, anyway?”

Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

“I’m so glad you asked since I’m just about done.”

Crossing the last stitch, you set aside your knitting needles and then hold up the finished product. “What do you think of these?”

Maria’s hand flies to her mouth, tears welling up in her dark eyes the moment she sees the pair of little brown baby booties in your hands. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes, a tear rolling down the side of her face as you stand up and walk across her living room to present her with the shoes. Sitting down beside her, you hold them out in the palms of your hands. With trembling fingers, she accepts them. “Kevin had a pair just like these when he was a newborn. I kept them even after he’d outgrown them.” She lets out a small laugh in spite of herself. “You know, I’d always complain that he was growing up too fast. I used to wish that I could slow time down a little so I could enjoy my son being that young longer,” she admits, sniffing. She reaches up, dabbing at her damp eyes with one of her hands. “And now Kevin is frozen in time, forever a three year old little boy.”

She sets the booties down on her belly and inhales deeply, willing herself to keep her composure.

Swallowing back your own emotions, you brush a single, stray tear from her cheek with your thumb. It wasn’t the first time that she’d opened up about losing her child—but Maria often kept her emotions hidden, tucked away along with her son’s memory. For the last several years, she’d dedicated most of her time and energy to Jackson and to its people, pouring herself completely into her role as the community’s leader. But now that Luke had placed her on strict bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy, Maria had no choice but to step down, temporarily handing the role over to Tommy, along with a small council she’d handpicked herself.

It hadn’t been easy for her, after all, there was only so much she could do to keep herself preoccupied while being confined to the four walls of her home. She found her mind wandering to Kevin a lot more often than not lately, and the pregnancy hormones did absolutely nothing to help in the matter.

“Maria?” you say her name softly. “You okay?”

She slowly exhales the breath she’d been holding.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she finally replies, sniffing again.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She pauses momentarily. “I just—there’s a part of me that still has trouble believing I’m going to be a mother again. It’s been so long, you know? What if I’ve forgotten how to be a good mom?”

Dropping your hand from Maria’s face, you offer it out for her to hold. She accepts it and you give her hand a gentle squeeze as you vouch, “This baby, they couldn’t be any luckier than to have a mother like you, Maria.”

“And a fuckin’ hell of a dad like me,” a voice teases from the doorway.

Tommy, who had been down at the commune’s market picking up some potatoes for dinner, saunters into the living room with a brown paper bag in his arm. Setting the bag down onto a nearby table, he then makes his way over to his wife. Noticing that she’d been crying, he leans over and presses his lips against her forehead, softly murmuring, “You doin’ alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m alright,” she assures him with a nod. “I’m just extra sensitive and hormonal right now. The usual.”

He hums. “Uh, yeah, I kinda figured that out when you bawled your way through Old Yeller at the movies the other night.”

She pouts. “Pregnant or not, that movie’s a tear jerker, okay? Only people made of stone don’t cry when the dog dies.”

“She’s got a point, Tommy,” you agree with a shrug. “I cried too, and I’m not pregnant.”

Drawing himself back up to his full height, Tommy glances at the booties resting on Maria’s belly. He picks them up and holds them both in the palm of his hand. 

“Well, ain’t these just the teeniest things I ever did see,” he remarks with a soft chuckle. “Who made these?”

Maria jerks her chin towards you. “She did.”

Tommy’s eyes meet yours and it feels like a punch to the fucking gut—they remind you of his brother. “Almost feels like a crime, havin’ you make clothes for our kid for free,” he states, shaking his head as he hands them back to Maria. “You’re makin’ the baby’s entire wardrobe at this point, little lady.”

Sheepishly, you wave a dismissive hand at him. “I made one sweater and a couple pairs of mittens for them. I wouldn’t exactly call that a wardrobe, Tommy.”

“It’s a hell of a lot more stuff than we had before. I gotta be honest, it just don’t feel right acceptin’ all these things from you without payin’ somehow. I’d really like to at least trade you somethin’ for them.”

Shaking your head, you politely decline the offer.

“I appreciate it, but I really don’t need anything.”

“What ‘bout Luke?”

“He doesn’t either.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t waste your breath,” Maria chimes in with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to get her to accept a trade all week long and she simply won’t budge.”

Tommy purses his lips together, slowly rubbing his chin in thought. “Okay, I’ve got an idea,” he proposes after a minute. “How ‘bout you and Luke both come on over and join us for dinner later tonight? That ain’t too bad of a deal, right?”

You silently mull over the offer for a second.

“If I accept the invitation, then will you two knock it off with all this damn trade nonsense?” When he eagerly nods, you sigh. “Alright then, I accept. We’ll come over for dinner tonight. Granted he doesn’t come home late from the clinic again.”

“Perfect,” he grins. “See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Knowing he only means well, you decide to be a good sport about it and smile at him. “No, Tommy. I suppose it wasn’t.”

“Great!” Maria beams. “We haven’t had a chance to get together for dinner in months. Lately when I see Luke, it’s as his patient,” she muses. “I have to admit, it’ll be so nice to have a conversation with him that doesn’t revolve around my uterus for once.”

Tommy jokingly makes a face. “Yeah. Tell the doc to leave all that medical stuff at the door before he comes over. Last thing I wanna hear ‘bout while I’m chowin’ down on some big, juicy bison steaks is what fuckin’ size my wife’s uterus is—”

“Tommy! That’s not funny!” Rolling her eyes at her husband, Maria turns to you to apologize but she stops short when she notices a sudden, not to mention drastic, change in your complexion. Frowning, she reaches up and touches your cheek. “Hey, you don’t look so good. Are you feeling alright?”

You can taste the bile at the back of your throat.

“I—I’m sorry, what did you just say was for dinner?”

Tommy shoots you a strange look. “Uh, steaks?”

The mere mention of the word sends a violent wave of sickness crashing over you—slapping your hand tightly over your mouth, you scramble to jump off the couch and make a beeline for their downstairs bathroom right across the hallway. You’d made it just in time to fall to your knees in front of the toilet. Clutching the sides of the porcelain bowl, you gag loudly, and the sickening sound of your retching bounces off the walls.

As your stomach heaves, you feel one hand gather your hair to hold it back and out of your face, while the other rubs soothing circles into your back.

“Let it all out,” Maria encourages you. “It’s alright, just let it all out. There you go, get everything out.”

Tommy pokes his head into the bathroom.

“She okay?”

“Tommy! Get out of here!” Maria scolds him over her shoulder. “She doesn’t need an audience!”

He holds up his hands. “Alright, alright! Sheesh, I was just makin’ sure she’s okay, you ain’t gotta bite my head off!” He huffs at her. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you two need me.” Without another word, he spins around on the heel of his boot and disappears.

Once you’re certain there’s nothing left, your trembling hand reaches for the handle on the tank and pulls it down, flushing the toilet. You then sit back, slumping against the wall. “Jesus. I am so fucking sorry. I have no idea what the hell came over me,” you groan, the embarrassment evident in your tone as you wipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your flannel shirt.

Maria peers at you with a suspicious glint in her eyes.

“You know,” she says, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, “About five months ago, I went through a phase where I couldn’t stand the thought of meat—any kind, but red meat had to be the worst. I just could not stomach it.” Her hand falls away from your face and she rises to her feet with a labored grunt. Leaning back against the sink, she continues to say, “Poor Tommy, he couldn’t even mention it to me or I’d throw up on his boots. Not long after that, I found out I was pregnant.”

You stare at her, your lips parting slightly.  “Maria, you can’t seriously be insinuating—I am not pregnant. No, it’s not possible, you know that I can’t have kids,” you sputter out, furiously shaking your head. “There’s just no fucking way that I’m—”

Maria holds up her hands to stop you. “When was the date of your last menstrual cycle?”

“It was recent.”

“How recent?”

Silently, you start counting the weeks and you freeze the moment you realize you’d missed September completely, and October’s cycle had been due two weeks ago. You’ve been so lost in your own grief, so busy trying to keep yourself from falling apart, that you hadn’t even realized you haven’t bled since—

“August,” you breathe out in a terrified whisper.

The last time you had your period was in August.

August. 

Before you had slept with Joel Miller for the first time. 

Maria whirls around and starts digging in the medicine cabinet above the sink, and then in the one below it. After a minute of rummaging, she turns back around and extends a hand out to you, offering to help you to your feet. She lets out another grunt as she helps you stand. “I had one left,” she states, holding out her other hand to you, an individually wrapped pregnancy test in her palm. “At this point, I don’t think you even need to take a test, but it doesn’t hurt to have solid proof.”

You can hardly choke out her name. “Maria—”

She hastily shoves the test into your hands. “Just take it. I’ll be back in to check on you, okay?”

Not giving you the chance to protest, she steps out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

You look down at the test in your palm and then up into the mirror, meeting your own wide eyes in the reflection.

It can’t be possible. It just can’t be possible.

You can’t have children. 

With shaking hands, you unzip your blue jeans and then tear open the package. Your mind is in such a haze, you have to read the instructions three or four times before the information finally sticks. After taking the test, you lay it down top of the counter with the results window facing down. You pull your panties and jeans back into place and wash your hands using the bar of soap next to the sink—all the while, the sheer panic has started to settle in, the fear that accompanies it seeping deep into your bones.

Swallowing harshly, you realize it’d been well over the three minutes the package had instructed you to wait for the results.

“It’s negative. It’s negative,” you affirm quietly over and over underneath your breath as you pick it up and flip it in your hand. “It’s negative. It’s negative—”

You stop, and for a second, your heart feels like it stops too.

Horrified, you blink furiously, as if somehow you’ve misread the results—but there is no fucking mistaking those two solid little pink lines.

Your blood runs cold in your veins.

You’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months.

And you’re pregnant. 

Luke hasn’t touched you in months. 

And you are fucking pregnant. 

Maria knocks lightly on the bathroom door.

“It’s been a few minutes now—can I come in?”

She waits, only to be met with complete silence.

“Hey, hon.” She knocks again. “Is everything okay?”

Again, there’s no response from the other side of the door.

“Christ, Maria.” Tommy suddenly appears beside her with a glass of water in his hand. Flashing his wife a teasing look, he quips, “Can’t you let the poor girl do her goddamn business in peace? What’s wrong with you, woman?”

Maria frowns. “I think something’s wrong.”

His playful grin falters. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not answering me.”

Tommy chortles, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Maybe ‘cause she’s actually in there doin’ her business?”

Hesitantly, Maria bites down on her bottom lip.

“What? What is it?”

“I gave her a pregnancy test to take.”

Tommy’s eyes widen. “You fuckin’ with me?”

Maria glares at him. “No! I’m not fucking with you, I’m being serious! I gave her the test and then told her I would check back in with her after she took it, but now she’s not answering me and I’m kind of worried.”

“The door locked?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think it is. Should we just open the door and see if she’s okay? I don’t want to barge in there but—”

Tommy hands Maria the glass of water. “Hey,” he calls lightly as he raps on the door with his fist. “Everythin’ alright in there?” He waits for a minute, but when you don’t reply, he grasps the brass doorknob in his hand and says sternly, “Now you listen here, little lady. You had best answer me right now, or we’re gonna have to come in, you understand me?”

Silence. 

“Last chance, talk or I’m gonna open this door.”

Nothing. 

“Alright then, suit yourself. Hope you’re decent.”

Tommy turns the knob, cracking the door open—when he doesn’t see you, he tries pushing it open further. The door stops halfway, and he peers around it only to find you sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, preventing the door from going any further. “Shit, she’s sittin’ right behind the goddamn—fuckin’ hold on, Maria! If I try shovin’ it open, I could hurt her!” Being careful so as not to hit you or step on you by accident, he squeezes his way into the bathroom. He crouches down beside you, cupping your cheek in the palm of his hand. “Hey, what is it? What’s the matter?”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You can’t speak. You can’t move.

All that you can do is stare at him. Petrified. 

“C’mon, little lady,” he coaxes, softly. “Talk to me.”

“Tommy! Let me in!” Maria demands, impatiently. “Can you move her? I can’t squeeze through, my belly is way too big.”

Tommy slides one arm around your shoulders and the other arm under your knees. “I’m just gonna move you out the way so Maria can come in, alright? C’mere.” He gingerly slides you across the tile and cradles the side of your body against his chest. He then calls out to his wife, “There, that should be enough room!”

Maria pushes the door open and rushes inside. “Is she okay?” Gripping Tommy’s shoulder, she slowly lowers herself to kneel beside you. Her eyes go straight to the test clutched in your hand. She just about has to pry your ice cold fingers off the white stick one by one. “It’s positive,” she gasps. “Your results are positive—you’re going to have a baby!”

Tommy lets out a loud, gleeful laugh. “Did’ya hear that, little lady? You’re gonna have a baby! You’re gonna be a mama! Ain’t that great news?”

Finally, you snap out of your trance. Your eyes anxiously bounce between Tommy and Maria, heart pounding as they eagerly wait for your reaction with smiles of pure excitement on their faces.

“I—” Unable to utter another word, you burst into tears.

And they’re certainly not tears of happiness.

No, the sobs coming from deep within you aren’t full of joy at the news that you’re going to be a mother.

They’re pained. Cries full of sorrow, anguish, and fear. As the confusion flashes across their faces, all you can do is weep harder, and louder.

“Wait a minute, I thought you would be happy.” Maria’s hands reach for yours and she holds them tightly as she tries to understand what it is that is causing such a negative reaction. “You and Luke tried for a really long time to have another baby. Why are you so upset?” She keeps her voice calm, kind. Warm. It wasn’t that she was judging you—Maria wants to help you, however there’s no way for her to help you if she doesn’t know what’s causing your grief in the first place. “What’s the matter, honey? Are you afraid after what happened last time?”

“I can’t be pregnant,” you rasp out. “I can’t—”

“Hey now, it’s alright. C’mere.” Tommy shifts and he moves to sit down beside you against the wall. His arm drapes around your trembling shoulders in an effort to comfort you. As your entire body shudders with sobs, he pulls you close against his side, rubbing your arm with his hand. Once they’ve subsided and little hiccups are all that are left, he finally speaks again. “You can talk to us, little lady. ‘Bout anythin’ that’s on your mind. We care ‘bout you a whole lot. Y’know that, don’t you?”

“Tommy’s right,” Maria nods. “You’re like family to us. You can come to us about anything. We’ll do whatever we can to help you, okay?”

You shake your head tightly. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

She lets out a small sigh and glances at her husband with a look of defeat. “I think you should run down to the clinic and get Luke. He’ll know what to do to calm her down.”

“No!” you shout loudly, startling them both. “I—Luke can’t find out that I’m pregnant. He just can’t know, or else—” A fresh batch of tears spring forward as you clamp a hand over your mouth, muffling another wail.

“Or else what?” Maria asks, raising an eyebrow.

Or else he was going to fucking kill you.

Tommy grabs your wrist, gently tugging it away from your face. “Or else what?” He echoes his wife. “What is goin’ on? Is there somethin’ we should know ‘bout?”

Yet another sob escapes you and his fingers curl tighter around your wrist, firmly, but he’s careful not to be too harsh.

“We’re gonna need you to tell us what’s goin’ on.”

There’s no way around it. Around any of it.

You have to tell them. 

Swallowing harshly, you admit, “There is.”

The couple waits expectantly.

“The baby isn’t Luke’s.” You mumble it so quietly and incoherently that neither of them hear it despite being in such close proximity.

Maria furrows an eyebrow. “What did you say?”

“The baby isn’t Luke’s!” You cry out, yanking your wrist out of Tommy’s hand. “This baby isn’t his and that’s why he can’t fucking know!”

And just like that, the truth comes tumbling out.

Luke’s violence towards you.

Your romantic affair with Joel.

Ellie discovering the abuse and telling him about it.

Your stubborn refusal to let either of them do anything to help you.

You spare no details of everything that had taken place over the last several months, and by the time you had finally finished, both Tommy and Maria were rendered completely speechless.

“Can one of you say something? Please? Anything at all?” Your voice is small, feeble.

After a minute, Tommy pulls his arm from around your shoulders and stands up. He helps Maria up to her feet before he extends his hand to you. “Alright, first thing’s first. Let me get you up off this floor, little lady.”

His voice is soft, and so is his gaze.

“Tommy how can you—after everything that I’ve done? Your brother—”

“Please. Just let me help you off the floor and then we can talk ‘bout it. Okay?”

You accept his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Much to your surprise, he doesn’t let it go as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the living room where he sits you down on the couch. Maria, who hasn’t said a single word, takes a seat beside you.

Tommy kneels down in front of you, placing a warm and gentle hand on your leg. He almost looks a little bit guilty, as if he should have known what was being done to you behind closed doors. “Look, m’gonna ask you a question and I need an honest answer. How long has he been doin’ this to you?”

Anxiously, you start wringing your hands in your lap.

“Tommy, I can’t. Please, don’t—”

“Tell me,” he encourages you, softly. “When did it first start?”

Your throat bobs. “Two months after my dad died,” you confess, another tear rolling down the side of your face.

Maria stiffens. “Luke has been putting his hands on you for two years?”

“Yes.”

You can hear the shame in your own voice—shame for letting the abuse go on as long as it has, for everything to come to light like this.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Tommy sighs heavily and hangs his head. “Joel told me. He fuckin’ told me.”

You wipe at your swollen eyes with your forearm.

“What are you talking about, Tommy?”

He sighs again.

“Months ago, the day after the big summer party,” he begins to explain. “We were at the bar. Joel was askin’ me ‘bout you and Luke. Said somethin’ just wasn’t right when he saw you two together for the first time. He tried to tell me somethin’ was wrong and I—I didn’t fuckin’ believe him. Told him he was seein’ what he wanted to see ‘cause I knew he liked you. I fuckin’ told him that you and Luke were happy. He tried to tell me and I didn’t fuckin’ listen to him.”

“Tommy, please don’t blame yourself for this,” you beg him. “I’m the one who chose to hide it. This is my own fault, okay? This is all on me, not on you.”

Maria furiously shakes her head. “It’s not your fault and it sure as hell isn’t on you. You’re the victim here.”

Victim. 

The word makes you cringe.

“But it is my fault, Maria. I hid it from you guys for two fucking years.”

“But why? Why did you hide it? Why didn’t you come to us?” Tommy’s voice is strained. “You should’ve told us what he was doin’ to you. We—I could’a done somethin’ to stop it. I could’a helped you.”

“Because. I didn’t want to risk getting him thrown out of the community. Jackson needs him, Tommy.”

“Like hell we do,” Tommy rises to his feet. “Ain’t no way that we’re gonna tolerate that fuckin’ shit here.” With his hands curled tightly into fists, he spins around and starts heading towards the front door.

You stand and chase after him, catching him just as he opens it. “Where the hell are you going?”

“To confront that pathetic son of a bitch—”

“Tommy, please! Don’t do that.” Grabbing his arm, you shoot him a pleading look. “Please, think about this for a minute.”

“Ain’t nothin’ for me to fuckin’ think ‘bout, alright?”

“Yes, there fucking is! This town needs a doctor. They need Luke—Maria needs Luke.” You glance over at her just as she appears in the hallway with both hands on her belly. “God forbid that something goes wrong—she goes into preterm labor or she has a complication when she gives birth. Did you think about that?”

“We’ve got two nurses,” he reminds you.

“Two nurses who only know basic neonatal care. That’s it. If something serious happens, Maria’s going to need Luke. And the baby’s going to need him too.”

You knew you’d gotten your point across when Tommy turns to his wife, helplessly.

“Fuck,” he curses, slamming the door shut. “She’s right. I fuckin’ hate to say it, but she’s right ‘bout that.”

“I am right,” you state and his attention flits back to you. “Luke has to stay and you both know that as well as I do. For the good of Jackson, he has to stay.”

Conflicted, Tommy growls out in frustration. “So what, I’m just s’pposed to give him a fuckin’ pass? How the hell can you expect us—how can you expect me to let that motherfucker walk around this place knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to you over these last two years?”

Your fingers dig into his arm, a fresh batch of hot tears stinging your eyes. “Tommy, if this community suffers without Luke because of me, it will destroy me. The guilt will fucking destroy me.”

Finally, Maria decides to step in. “Listen, I know that you’re trying to look out for the people of this town and I get that. But you’re risking your own life by asking us to let him stay here.” She walks over to you, taking your hands in hers. “Honey, I know men like Luke because I used to prosecute men like Luke. I would take them to court on murder charges.” Her eyes find yours. “I don’t want to scare you, but if that is the only way for me to get through to you, then I will sit you down and I will tell you all about what happened to the women who swore to me their abusive husbands would never, ever take it that far.”

You swallow harshly and a chill runs up your spine.

“I’ll leave,” you squeak. “I’ll leave him.”

“And what if he doesn’t let you walk away?”

Tommy crosses his arms over his chest. “He will if I’m the one who fuckin’ talks to him. I ain’t gonna give him the choice. He has to let her go.”

Panicked, you furiously shake your head. “No! I can do this on my own, Tommy. I can handle him alone. I don’t need you to do it for me. I can fix this without your help, okay?”

“You can’t,” he says, firmly. “You just can’t.”

“Yes, I can—”

He cuts you off with a pleading look.

“You need to let us help you. Please. Let us help you.”

You had agreed to it, but only on one condition.

“I need a couple of days,” you’d told them.

Tommy frowned. “No. It’s happenin’ tonight. We’re gonna talk to Luke, you’re gonna pack up a couple bags, and we’re gettin’ you away from him. You can stay here with us for a while. You’ll be safe.” Taking notice of the shocked look on your face, he said, “I know you ain’t crazy enough to think I’m gonna let you go home to him tonight. Ain’t no way in hell.”

“I—this is all happening so fast. It’s too overwhelming, Tommy. I just need a day or two to process everything before I take that leap.”

“And give Luke the fuckin’ chance to hurt you again?”

“He hasn’t laid a finger on me in weeks now.”

Tommy scoffed, “Well, someone give him a fuckin’ medal!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “He hasn’t hit his wife in weeks! What a fuckin’ guy!”

You recoiled, his sarcasm stinging like he’d poured salt straight into the open wound.

“Tommy,” Maria glared at him. “Not helping.”

He immediately shot you an apologetic look.

“Shit. Sorry, little lady. I’m just real worried ‘bout you. I don’t like the idea of you goin’ home to him tonight, and much less knowin’ that you’re pregnant, y’know?” His eyes had fallen to your stomach with sudden curiosity. “When, uh—when do you plan on tellin’ Joel ‘bout the baby, anyway?”

Heat flooded your face and neck.

“I—I’m not really sure about that yet.”

“Jesus Christ, Tommy! She just told you that she’s feeling overwhelmed,” Maria chastised him. “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay? Our first priority is going to be to get her out of that house. She has already agreed to letting us help her, so I think there’s a bit of room for compromise. Here’s the deal.” She put a hand on your shoulder. “As much as I don’t want to let you go home to him tonight either, I’m going to allow it so you can take a breather. Tomorrow in the afternoon when you get home from work duty, I’ll come over and help you pack some clothes and necessities, and we can bring them over here to our place.”

Nervously chewing your lower lip, you asked, “And then what?”

“I’ll go confront Luke,” Tommy stated. “Best if you ain’t there when I talk to him, little lady.” He turned to Maria, placing a hand on her belly. “I don’t want you to be there either, sweetheart. I ain’t takin’ any chances and puttin’ you and the baby under stress so I’m gonna have to handle him alone, alright?”

Maria nodded, shifting her attention back to you. “So? Do we have a deal?”

Meekly, you had nodded in agreement. “Yes. We have a deal.”

The rest of that evening passes by in a blur.

Autopilot had taken over the moment that Tommy took you across the road and dropped you off at your door.

“Any problems, you come get me,” he’d said. “You come and get me. No matter what time it is, alright? You fuckin’ come and get me if he tries anythin’.”

All that you could do was give him a weak nod and then you’d turned around, slipping into the house.

You don’t remember cooking dinner.

You don’t remember looking at the clock, noticing it was well past dinnertime and realizing that Luke would be home late as usual. You don’t remember fixing him a plate and leaving it on top of the stove for him to find when he came home, storing all of the leftovers, and washing the small pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

You don’t remember heading upstairs afterwards, you don't remember taking a long shower, brushing your teeth or changing into your pajamas.

It wasn’t until hours later, when the bedroom door opened and Luke walked in, that autopilot finally disengaged.

“You’re still up?”

You’d been sitting on the foot of the bed anxiously picking at your fingernails without even realizing it until he glared at you—he’d always hated the habit and spent months smacking it out of you.

Ceasing from messing with your hands, you drop them into your lap.

“You’re home really late again,” you say, quietly.

“I made a last minute house call. John’s little boy came down with a hell of a fever tonight.” Luke sets down his satchel bag and shrugs out of his jacket—as he does so, you catch sight of the tiny, reddish purple bruise on his neck, right below his ear. Draping his jacket over a nearby chair, he arches his brow as if he were silently challenging you to confront him, as if he’s daring you to ask him who had given him a love bite.

You don’t care. You don’t care about what or who Luke has been doing over the last several nights when he’s been coming home so much later than usual.

Kicking off his black boots, he saunters over to you, his mouth stretching into a cruel, satisfied little smirk.

Oh, he knows damn well you’ve already figured it out.

He wanted you to figure it out.

“Spend the afternoon at Tommy and Maria’s again?”

“Yes. I did.”

“I see.” He hums. “She was telling me during her exam this morning at the clinic that you’ve been helping her knit some clothes for the baby. Is that so?”

“I have,” you murmur, looking down to avert his curious gaze as he stops in front of you. “We’ve been making blankets for the baby, too.”

Luke cups your chin, forcing your eyes back up to meet his. “Well, isn’t that sweet of you.” He roughly curls his fingers around your jaw, his thumb brushing along your quivering lower lip. He hums again. “Something about you seems different, darling. Been looking a lot prettier to me these days.” He lets go of your jaw and brushes your hair behind your shoulder, his finger skimming the strap of your cotton pajama top. “How long has it been now, sweetheart?”

Your throat goes dry, your lips parting in shock as Luke pulls it down your arm, his palm grazing over your skin.

No. This can’t be happening. He wants to—?

Without waiting for a response, Luke grabs one of your hands and places it over his belt buckle.

Noticing your expression, he laughs again. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“You—you haven’t wanted to touch me in months.”

Luke shrugs. “Well, what can I say? I’m suddenly in the mood for my pretty little wife’s cunt.” His grin stretches from ear to ear. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky this time. Maybe we’ll have a little one of our own running around this place. I’m feeling rather optimistic tonight.”

You’re going to be fucking sick all over him.

No, you can’t let him do this to you.

You can’t let him touch you.

He pushes your hand lower, right over his bulge.

“No!” Tearing your hand away, you jump up and roughly shove him away from you. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

He stumbles backwards, but he catches himself before he can fall.

Your chest heaves a d he stares at you, bewildered at what you had just done. “I’m so sorry that whoever you fucked before you came home wasn’t enough for you, but you are not fucking touching me,” you spit at him. “In fact, you’re never touching me ever again because I’m leaving. I’m done, Luke.”

“Excuse me?”

“You fucking heard me.” Your voice trembles—you can’t be sure if it trembles out of anger or out of the sheer terror you feel. Maybe it’s a bit of both. “It’s over, Luke. This marriage is fucking over. I’m not putting up with what you’ve been doing to me for the past two years. I’m not going to tolerate it. Not anymore. I’m not going to allow you to keep on hurting me.” Lifting your hand, you slide your wedding band off of your finger and toss it at him. It clinks as it lands on the hardwood floor near his feet. “I’ll be out of the house by tomorrow evening.”

“Let me take a guess.” He speaks calmly, much too calmly, as he starts towards you. The time bomb has started ticking. “You’re going to move in with Joel Miller and his feral little rat of a kid?”

Hands curling into fists at your sides, you seethe, “Where I move is none of your fucking business, Luke.” He steps closer and your courage starts to falter. You can feel yourself wanting to back down—the thought of your unborn child is the only thing that keeps you from completely losing your nerve. “Here is the deal. You’re going to let me leave and you’re going to stay the fuck away from me. If you do that, then I won’t tell anyone anything about the things you’ve done to me. It’ll be like none of it ever happened. We both move on with our lives. Separately. Got it?”

He draws closer and closer. Much too close.

“Oh, you silly, silly girl,” he tsks. “Do you really think you can call the shots? Do you really fucking think you have the upper hand here? That you can make the decision to end this marriage, just like that?”

Closer, until his chest brushes against yours.

“Luke, I’m giving you a fucking chance here,” you say, backing away until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. With nowhere else to go, to run, you fall backwards onto the bed, scrambling up towards the headboard. Your heart is pounding, too hard and too fast—would it give out before he even has the chance to get his hands on you? “Luke, please, just let me go.” Clasping your hands together in a plea, you beg him, your back pressed against the headboard, “If at any point in our relationship you loved me—if at any point in our marriage you actually cared about me, you will fucking let me go in peace. Please. Just let me go. Let me fucking go.”

Luke stands at the foot of the bed, his face blank.

Emotionless. There isn’t a single ounce of compassion in his eyes. No mercy. 

“Please,” you whisper once more. Curling both of your arms around yourself, you subconsciously protect your belly.

Luke reaches down and unbuckles his belt.

You watch, your stomach churning, as he slowly slides the black leather from the loops of his jeans.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke.” 

Joel clutches his stallion’s reins tightly in his hands as the pair fall into a slow, easy trot behind Tommy and his horse, Ranger.

He follows his brother as he leads the way through the quiet, tranquil plains of Wyoming. Instead of scanning their surroundings for signs of potential danger, all Joel can do is think about you—that was all he could ever do these days, was fucking think about you and about that fucking night.

The memory plays over and over in his mind on a loop, torturing him day in and day out. It never fucking stops. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

“I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

That’s precisely what he had done. He had stayed away from Luke. And against his better judgement, he had stayed away from you, too.

“How’s it feel to be back out here?” Tommy asks over his shoulder. He tugs at the reins and gives Ranger the cue to slow his trot, giving Joel and his horse, Bandit, the chance to catch up and ride at their side. “Bet you couldn’t be fuckin’ happier to be off house arrest, huh?” he adds, a light joking edge to his tone.

After about four and a half weeks, Joel had made a full recovery, and he was cleared to return to patrol duties. Wanting to ease him back into the swing of things after so much time off, Tommy decided to pair up with Joel as his partner for that morning’s watch. The two took a route just a few miles west of the community, one that was scoured every couple of days since it was so close to Jackson’s main gate.

“S’alright,” he mutters with a shrug that causes him to wince. His shoulder’s still a little sore. Ellie had assisted with his physical therapy, badgering him every single night to do the exercises in some book she’d found in the town’s library with Dina’s help. He had full range of motion again, and that’s all Tommy had needed in order to allow him to return to patrol.

“You feelin’ alright?” His brother notices the slight look of discomfort on his face. “Shoulder’s good?”

“Any particular reason you’re bein’ so annoyin’ today?”

Tommy feigns offense. “You got fuckin’ shot, Joel. Just makin’ sure you’re okay. Jesus.”

Joel lets out a small huff through his nose. “M’fine,” he assures him. “Shoulder’s good. Still hurts a little and the cold weather ain’t doin’ a whole lot to help, but ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” Sitting back in his saddle, he lets his thighs close around Bandit. “Whoa,” he utters to the animal, his fingers squeezing the reins as he signals for Bandit to come to a halt.

“What’s the matter? Why are we stoppin’?”

“This route’s clear, Tommy. We should turn around and go find the rest of the group. Check and see if the other routes are clear too.” Joel clicks his tongue, prompting Bandit to move again. He steers the stallion and starts turning around to lead them back east, but then stops once more. He glimpses over at Tommy, who hasn’t moved a muscle. Noticing the odd, pensive expression on his face, Joel frowns, asking, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy chews the inside of his cheek, his apprehension written all over his face. “Uh Joel, there’s something we need to talk ‘bout and maybe it’s best if we do it while we’re out here, just the two of us.”

Confused, Joel’s eyebrows pull together. “What is it?”

His brother hesitates. His lips purse together, a sudden look of regret flashing across his features.

“Tommy?” Joel prompts. “The hell’s goin’ on?”

Exhaling a heavy sigh, he states, “You were right.”

“Right ‘bout what?”

“‘Bout Luke.”

Joel freezes in the seat of his saddle.

“You were fuckin’ right ‘bout him mistreatin’ her.”

His grip around the reins tightens, skin stretching thin over his knuckles so tight they’d gone white.

“She was over at mine yesterday afternoon. Ended up tellin’ me and Maria everthin’ ‘bout Luke and what he’s done.” Rolling his lower lip between his teeth, Tommy pauses for a second before repeating, “You were right. You were fuckin’ right ‘bout that bastard from the start and I’m real sorry that I didn’t fuckin’ believe you, Joel.”

Joel’s mind begins to race.

What had prompted you to finally tell Tommy and Maria about the abuse? Did something happen to you that he didn’t know about?

Ellie had been pretty good about keeping him posted. He would ask her about you the very minute she’d walk through the front door after her shift at the stables and she would provide him a full report.

“She’s fine. She ain’t hurt,” Tommy reassures him, as if he’d read his mind. “We’re plannin’ on movin’ her outta the house later on tonight.”

“What?” Finally, Joel speaks, his voice rigid.

Tommy holds his hands up in defense. “Now, hold on. I need you to give me a minute and let me explain—”

“She told you Luke’s been abusin’ her and you just let her go back to him? Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? Why didn’t you and Maria fuckin’ stop her?”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ stop her the night you saw the bruise on her?” He shoots back at him. 

Joel stares at him, his lips parting slightly.

How did he fucking know about that? 

“She told us the truth ‘bout the affair too, Joel.”

“She did?”

“She did,” Tommy confirms with a nod. “I had a hunch, y’know. The day of the ambush, I thought I saw panic in her eyes when I told Ellie you’d been shot. Then I saw it again when she saw you there sittin’ on that table with a bullet in your shoulder, but I brushed it off. Thought she was just real worried ‘bout the kid seein’ as those two are thick as fuckin’ thieves, y’know?” Despite the serious nature of the conversation, he can’t help but let out a chuckle when he thinks of you and Ellie. “But now I know she was scared of losin’ you. That girl loves you, Joel. I know you love her too. I’m willin’ to bet it’s the reason you let her walk away that night. Why you kept her secret.”

“Jesus.” Joel exhales a shaky breath. “Y’must think I’m a real fuckin’ coward for knowin’ what he’s been doin’ to her and not doin’ a goddamn thing ‘bout it, huh?”

Tommy shakes his head.

“It’s a complicated situation, brother. She only did what she did for the good of the community. She’s still trying to do what’s best for Jackson, believe it or not. She, uh, she wants us to let Luke stay.”

“She wants you to let him stay?”

“Girl’s got too big of a heart. Doesn’t want the town to be without a doctor.”

“Ain’t no goddamn way you’d let him stay! After all the fuckin’ shit he’s done to her?” When his brother doesn’t respond, Joel narrows his eyes at him. “Jesus Christ. You can’t fuckin’ tell me you’re actually considerin’ it? Are you fuckin’ serious, Tommy? You and Maria would let that son of a bitch stay in Jackson? Knowin’ he’s spent two fuckin’ years puttin’ his hands on his wife?”

“Look here, alright? I don’t like the idea as much as you don’t, and neither does Maria,” he says. “But this ain’t exactly black and white, Joel. I really fuckin’ wish it was. But the hard truth is that Jackson does need a doctor, and unless one magically falls out of the fuckin’ sky, we ain’t got much of a choice here. My wife and child, they might need him, y’know? Maria’s considered a high risk ‘cause of her age. If somethin’ happens and there’s complications when she’s in labor, she and the baby are gonna need him. Our nurses, they ain’t really trained to handle things like that, y’know?”

Joel’s lips press together into a tight, thin line.

Of course it’s black and white to him—because he loves you. You’re his fucking priority. There’s no gray area for him. None.

But Tommy? His priority is Maria and their unborn child.

Joel can’t fault him for that, and he certainly isn’t going to try. But what about you?

“Listen, Joel. I know this is real fuckin’ hard, believe me I do. I care about that girl a lot, a whole fuckin’ lot. I saw her as family long before I knew ‘bout your relationship with her and before I knew she was—”

He stops abruptly, red splotching his cheeks.

Joel still doesn’t know he is going to be a father. Again.

“Before you knew she was what, Tommy?”

“Tommy!” A woman’s voice shouts. “Joel! Over here!”

The two brothers glance over their shoulders and see the rest of their morning patrol group heading towards them.

Tommy bites back a sigh of utter relief. That had been too fucking close.

He turns to Joel, lowering his voice. “Joel, I need you to listen, and listen to me real good. We’ve gotta take this one step at a time. First thing’s first, me and Maria are gonna get her outta that house. She can stay with us at our place for a while. She’ll be safe with us. That much I can promise you.”

“Then what?”

“Don’t know yet. We get her out first and then we figure things out from there. In the meantime, I’m gonna need you to stay calm, Joel. Please. Don’t go off and do somethin’ stupid, alright?”

That had been a lot easier said than done.

Joel needed to talk to you.

He needed to fucking see you. 

But his brother had been adamant.

“Don’t fuckin’ get involved, Joel. Not ‘til we get her out. I don’t want things to fuckin’ explode in our faces, alright? Let me handle this.” 

Letting out a heavy sigh, Joel leans back into the couch and looks down at the guitar in his lap—he’d just spent the last hour carefully polishing it in an effort to keep himself occupied. He thought back to that night you’d come over to gift it to him, how he had kissed you for the first time mere hours before you showed up on his doorstep with your father’s Gibson.

As he gives the guitar a gentle test strum, he recalls the request you made for him to sing you a song and a dull ache settles in his chest, right over his heart. He’ll sing you every song you want to hear, if given the chance.

Part of him is optimistic that he would get the chance.

You were meant to be his. He was meant to be yours.

He just fucking knows it.

Joel’s train of thought is shattered by the sound of the front door opening, and then loudly slamming shut.

“Ellie?” He calls out.

Her voice comes from the hallway. “Yeah?”

“C’mere, kiddo.”

Ellie grumbles incoherently as she walks into the living room, hair disheveled, clothes filthy, and her sneakers caked with muck from the stables.

Joel frowns at her. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Today was just really fucking shitty and while that was a great pun, for once, it was not fucking intended,” she sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you called me in here to ask me about her, I’d save my breath. She stayed home today. She’s sick.”

Joel’s stomach instantly drops. “She’s sick?”

“Yeah. With like a really bad cold or something.”

Putting down the guitar, he questions, “And who told you that?”

“Dina,” Ellie replies, looking puzzled. “She said Luke told her—” She stops abruptly as he jumps to his feet and immediately shoves past her, heading towards the front door. She spins around on her heel, following him. As he flies down the porch and starts down the road towards your house, she is forced to jog along beside him just to keep up with his stride. “What, what? What is it? Fucking answer me, Joel, what is it?”

“She ain’t fuckin’ sick, Ellie.”

“What do you mean she’s not—oh fuck. You don’t think she’s hiding out at home because—?” Ellie’s heartbeat stutters when the realization sinks in. “Luke.”

When the pair arrive at your place, they find a very, very distraught Maria Miller standing on the front porch, her hands wrapped around the doorknob. “Hon, I need you to let me in!” She turns and pulls the knob, desperately. “Please! Open the door for me!”

Your tearful voice comes from the other side. “Go away, Maria!”

The sound of Joel’s boots prompt Maria to turn around. “Joel,” she breathes out his name in relief. “I can’t get her to open the door. Tommy went to see if we have a spare key for the unit. He hasn’t come back and I don’t know what to do.”

“Break a fucking window, maybe?” Ellie snaps at her.

Joel silences her with a glare and then takes Maria by her arms, moving her to stand behind him. “Open the goddamn door!” he commands firmly, pounding his fist harshly against the wood. He can almost feel the way you freeze on the other side the moment you hear the sound of his voice. “Open this fuckin’ door right now!”

Ellie chimes in, “Come on, please open the door!”

“Go away!”

Joel continues to beat his fists against the door. “Show me what he fuckin’ did to you!” He shouts as he drops his hands to the doorknob, clawing at it as if somehow that’s going to do the trick and open the door. “C’mon! Show me what that fuckin’ bastard did to you!”

“Please, go away, all of you! Just leave me alone!”

“You know we can’t do that,” Maria calls. “You’re going to have to open this door and let us—”

Losing what very little patience he has to begin with in the first place, Joel cuts her off. “I will fuckin’ break this door down if I have to,” he threatens. “I’ll cause a scene and let everyone in this whole fuckin’ town know what Luke does to you. Is that what you want?”

He hears the lock click almost instantly.

Finally, you crack the door open and peek out to show them your face. “There, you fucking see?” Your face is blotchy, your eyes red and swollen from crying. “I’m fucking fine! Now fucking go away!”

You try shutting the door, but Joel is too quick and slips the toe of his boot in, wedging it between the door and the doorframe.

“Move, Joel!”

“Nope,” he says, keeping it planted firmly in place.

Not wanting to break his foot, you let up and he shoves his way inside with Ellie and Maria trailing behind him.

Taking a clumsy step backwards, you gather up the front of your knitted cardigan in your trembling hands, bunching it around your neck to conceal it. “Get out! Please, just get out!” you beg them through your sobs. “Please leave! I’m fine! Look at me, I’m perfectly fine—”

Heart hammering painfully against his sternum, Joel walks over and he takes your wrists. “Let me see. Baby, please. Just let me see.” His voice is raw, thick, as if he were on the verge of tears himself. He just knows he’s failed you, failed to keep all those promises he had made about never letting anything bad happen to you. He’s fucking failed. Again. He tries to find your gaze, but you refuse to look him in the eye. “Let me see,” he chokes out again, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast against the iciness of your own. “I’ll force you if I have to, so please just show me. Please, just fuckin’ show me what he did to you.”

Letting out another agonized sob, you drop your hands and let go of the material, letting it fall back into place at your sides and exposing your injury.

Maria gasps into her hands. “God.” 

“Fuck.” Ellie’s eyes widen in complete horror.

Joel drops your wrists, taking a step backwards as his eyes glaze over the severe discoloration around your neck.

He feels fucking sick to his stomach, but it isn’t until he notices the clear imprint of a square belt buckle on the column of your throat that Joel thinks he might actually be sick all over the floor.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Luke’s voice suddenly echoes through the foyer. He stands near the front door, looking thoroughly confused—that is, until he sees you standing there, exposing what he had done to you the night before with his belt. The very same belt he’s wearing now.

No one has the chance to speak.

No one has the chance to think.

No one even has the chance to breathe.

Joel charges at Luke. He roughly snatches the collar of his jacket and pulls him further into the foyer of the house, away from the open front door so that he has nowhere to run.

You rush towards them. “Joel, stop! No!”

Maria quickly hurries to stop you, grabbing you by the back of your sweater. She yanks you back and out of harm’s way. “Don’t!”

Horrified, you watch as Joel slams Luke straight into the mirror hanging on the wall—head first. He pulls him forward, then slams him back even harder, the impact completely shattering the glass. Hundreds of shards go flying across the hardwood floor.

“Oh shit! Watch out!” Ellie jumps back as a sharp piece of broken glass lands between her sneakers.

“Joel, stop it! Please, stop!” you cry out as Maria grasps your arm to keep you from jumping in the middle of the altercation. “Stop it!”

But Joel is too far gone. Ignoring your desperate cries, he wraps one hand around Luke’s neck, holding him in place. His other hand curls into a tight fist and he starts delivering bone shattering blow after bone shattering blow to his face. “You wanna fuckin’ hit someone?” He snarls as the man’s nose cracks beneath his knuckles. “You wanna fuckin’ put your hands on someone? Huh? Then you fuckin’ put ‘em on me! C’mon, I fuckin’ dare you to put ‘em on me!”

Throwing Luke onto the floor, Joel climbs on top of him and he secures both of his hands around his throat. He feels the uncontrollable urge to do to him what he had done to you—only, unlike Luke, he doesn’t need a belt, and unlike Luke, he isn’t going to stop.

He isn’t going to let him live.

Joel squeezes Luke’s neck, cutting off his oxygen.

“How do you fuckin’ like it,” he hisses, irises going from brown to black as he presses harder on his windpipe. “C’mon, tough guy, tell me how you fuckin’ like it.”

Luke feebly claws and scratches at his hands, gurgling as blood starts coming out of his nose and mouth.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy rushes into the house, his boots scraping against the floor as he skids to halt. Without hesitating, he jumps into action. “Joel, stop! Fuckin’ let him go! Let him go!” He reaches down to pull him off.

“Look at what he did to her! Fuckin’ look at her!”

Tommy turns his attention to you, and the color drains from his face. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes out, shocked by the mark around your neck. He has half a mind to step back and allow Joel to finish the job, but with you, Ellie, and Maria watching on in terror, Tommy doesn’t have a choice. He grabs fistfuls of Joel’s denim shirt and tries to tug him off the man he’s about to kill. “Fuckin’ let him go, Joel! Right now! That’s an order!”

Luke’s attempts to fight him off grow weaker. His face is beaten beyond recognition, and there’s a pool of dark red growing under him, dripping from a deep laceration he’d sustained from the being slammed head first into the mirror. His hands fall from around Joel’s wrists. He’s close to losing complete consciousness.

“Joel, let him go!” Tommy bellows. “Now!”

“Tommy, be careful!” Maria warns him, worriedly.

Somehow, he finally manages to peel Joel off Luke. He shoves him up against the nearest wall, pinning him in place. Behind him, Luke coughs and sputters violently, gasping as he frantically tries to breathe some air back into his lungs.

“Fuckin’ let go of me!” Joel growls, his eyes wild as he drives his fists into Tommy’s chest. “I’ll fuckin’ kill him! Let me fuckin’ go!”

Tommy cups Joel’s face in his hands and tries to meet his gaze. “Hey, look at me, I need you to calm the fuck down—I said fuckin’ look at me, Joel!” He demands. “I need you to calm the fuck down. I know that he fuckin’ deserves it, alright? Trust me, it’s takin’ all the strength I’ve got in me not to fuckin’ let go, let you kill the son of a bitch. Hell, there’s a part of me that wants to help you fuckin’ do it! But it ain’t the way we handle things here. M’gonna need you to take a breath and calm down, big brother. If anythin’, just do it for her sake, alright?”

Joel’s chest heaves, his breaths rough and ragged as his eyes flicker over to you. His heart sinks at the sight of you sobbing uncontrollably in Ellie and Maria’s arms.

Groaning, Luke rolls over onto his stomach and spits a mouthful of blood into the floor. “You can fucking have her,” he rasps, looking up at Joel through swollen eyes. “Keep her. Keep the useless little whore.”

Blinded by white hot rage, Joel starts thrashing around in Tommy’s grasp and tries to break loose. “Fuckin’ call her that again you fuckin’ son of a bitch—”

“Shit.” Dropping her arms from around you, Ellie steps forward, standing protectively in front of both you and Maria.

“Get the fuck off me, Tommy! M’gonna fuckin’ kill him!”

Maria tucks your face into her shoulder. “Don’t watch.”

“Joel, fuckin’ stop it already!” Tommy struggles to keep him in place. “You’re scarin’ her half to death!”

“I don’t fuckin’ care—”

Tommy’s fingers curl around the collar of his shirt. He slams Joel back against the wall so hard, the mirror, or at least what’s left of it, falls. The square frame breaks in half when it hits the floor.

“Well, you should fuckin’ care! She’s pregnant, Joel.”

You lift your head from Maria’s shoulder. “Tommy.”

Ellie spins around on her heel to face you. She stares at you with wide, round eyes. “You’re fucking pregnant?”

Joel looks over at you. Just as shocked, if not more.

“What?” 

Tommy grabs his chin, forcing his older brother to look at him once more. “It’s true,” he murmurs quietly. “So please, just take a goddamn breath and calm the fuck down. For her sake—and for the sake of your child.” He releases Joel’s shirt and takes a careful step backwards towards Luke, who is still groaning in pain on the floor. Once he realizes Joel isn’t going to charge him again, Tommy turns around and grabs the injured man by the lapels of his jacket, pulling him up to his feet in a rough, careless manner. “Get the fuck up,” he says. He drags him towards the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Tommy? Where are you taking him?” Maria questions him.

“Town jail. M’gonna throw his sorry ass in a fuckin’ cell and leave him in there ‘til we figure out what to do with him.” He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll get the council together for an emergency meetin’ tonight.”

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters under her breath as soon as they disappear. “Did this really just fucking happen?”

Chest still heaving, Joel glances down at his bloodied, torn knuckles and then turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. The tension between the two of you is almost palpable.

Maria lightly clears her throat. “We should probably get out of here,” she suggests. “Let’s head on over to mine and Tommy’s while we wait for him to get back.”

“Are you cold?” Ellie asks, worriedly.

She holds up a blue fleece throw blanket she’d dug out from the hallway closet despite you warning her not to snoop around the house while Maria’s in the bathroom tending to Joel’s hand.

Shaking your head, you sigh, “I’m fine.”

“But it’s cold in here.” She drapes the blanket over your hunched shoulders. “Can I get you something? Water? Are you hungry? You should probably eat something—”

“Ellie, please stop with all the fussing.” You pat the spot on the couch beside you. “Just sit here with me. That’s all I need right now.”

Nodding, she sits down and angles herself toward you, getting a closer look at the wound you’d been left with.

“Shit,” Ellie mutters under her breath. Grimacing, she lifts a hand and gingerly presses her fingertips to your neck in disbelief. “Fuck, dude. How bad does it hurt?” She touches a particularly sore spot on the column of your throat and you hiss in pain. She retracts her hand and sputters an apology, “Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Wincing, you assure her, “It’s fine. It’s just a little tender right now, that’s all.”

“A little?” she scoffs.

“Okay, maybe more than a little,” you admit.

Ellie observes you for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“It’ll heal, Ellie. It looks worse than it really is.”

“No, I mean—” Pausing, Ellie moves her hand, placing it on your stomach. “Is the baby okay?”

You glance down at yourself, almost as if you expected to see something different about yourself, but then you remember you’re only about six weeks along and there is nothing to see, no significant changes to your body. Perhaps it’s the reason why there’s a part of you having a hard time grasping that Ellie’s asking if the baby was okay. If your baby is okay.

After a minute, you nod. “Yeah, I think so,” you reply softly, putting a hand over hers.

Relieved, Ellie flashes you a small smile. “Good.”

“How are you two doing in here?” Maria appears in the living room with Joel trailing behind her. His right hand is wrapped up in a white bandage.

“We’re okay.” Ellie glances at Joel. “You okay?”

He gives a quick, subtle nod of his head. “M’fine.”

“We can take her home now, right?” When Ellie doesn’t ge the immediate response she’s seeking, she shoots him a tiny little glare. “She’s coming home with us, isn’t she? I mean, she fucking has to come home with us.”

He still doesn’t answer her question.

All Joel can do is stare at you, jaw clenched and his lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

“Hey, Ellie, how about we go into the kitchen and make some tea?” Maria beckons to her with her hand.

She snorts. “Seriously? Who the hell wants fucking tea after that fucking shitshow—”

Maria pins her with an exasperated glare. “Ellie.”

“Oh shit, okay. I get it now,” Ellie quickly realizes it’s simply an excuse for the two of them to leave the room. Dropping her hand away from your stomach, she jumps up to her feet and wraps her arms around you. Her hug is brief, but full of warmth and reassurance, as if she’s silently telling you everything’s going to be alright. She releases you and follows Maria to the kitchen, leaving you and Joel alone.

Nervously, you stand up, your knees wobbling.

You feel torn—torn between wanting to run over to him and jump into his arms, and wanting to run away in the opposite direction to find somewhere to bury your head in shame. You’d promised him he had nothing to worry about, swore to him you couldn’t bear a child, and now here you were, carrying his and putting a responsibility on his shoulders he didn’t ask for. A responsibility that, surely, he doesn’t want.

On top of everything else he’d been through with you.

No, because of you. And now this?

Somehow, you muster up enough courage to speak.

“Joel,” you squeak his name. “Say something.”

“You sure you’re pregnant?” He asks, quietly. He stands across the room, making no move to come closer.

Swallowing harshly, you nod. “I’m sure.”

“How long have you known?”

“I only just found out yesterday,” you swear.

“And Tommy and Maria fuckin’ knew before me?”

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or if he’s disappointed—not that either was a better option than the other.

“I was here with them yesterday in the afternoon. I got sick out of nowhere. Maria’s the one who suspected it and suggested I take a pregnancy test when I realized I haven’t had my period since August. After the first time that you and I—well, you know.” Shifting from one foot to the other, you continue to explain, “It never even fucking crossed my mind, Joel. I didn’t notice anything. I didn’t notice the symptoms. Missing my period, the dizziness, and the nausea. I was so busy trying to keep myself from fucking falling apart without you that it all went right over my head.”

Joel’s harsh expression suddenly softens.

“I took the test. When the results turned out positive, I just lost it. I fucking lost it, and I told Tommy and Maria everything because I was scared.” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips out from the corner of your eye, rolling down the side of your face. Several more threaten to follow, but you blink them back. “They offered to help me, Joel. They wanted to get me out of the house last night, but I was too fucking stubborn. I didn’t listen to them. I thought I’d be fine for one more night, but when Luke came home, he wanted to be intimate with me.”

Joel sucks in a sharp breath. His anger boils in his veins all over again. “And did he—he touch you like that?”

“No, of course not. I didn’t let him. I couldn’t let him. I told him not to touch me and I pushed him away.”

“Then what happened?”

“I told him that it was over. That our marriage was over and I was leaving. That’s when he took off his belt and he—” Gesturing to your throat, you start sobbing again as images of the night before flood your mind.

Luke had done pretty horrific things to you before, but this? 

This had been the worst of them. He almost killed you.

“Baby.” Joel rushes over to you and pulls you right into his arms. “Shh, darlin’. S’alright,” he soothes. “S’alright, you’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Whimpering, you met into his touch, the very touch you have been missing with every fiber of your being. “I’m so sorry, Joel,” you croak into his chest. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He pulls away slightly, peering down at you. “Sorry? For what?” Without even giving you the chance to answer, he assures you, “There ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for, sweet girl. Alright?”

You let out a tearful scoff. “Joel, I’m pregnant. And it’s fucking yours,” you remind him, the guilt in your tone loud and clear. “Don’t you remember how worried you were about it? And how I told you that you had nothing to be concerned about?”

“Don’t put it all on yourself, peach.”

You almost smile.

Oh, how you’ve missed hearing him call you that.

“Look, this is on me too, baby. Part of me knew there was still a possibility, but I didn’t care. All I cared ‘bout was makin’ you mine every fuckin’ chance I got.” Joel’s hand cups the side of your face. He chuckles nervously and says, “Y’know, at one point, I kinda thought I was at the age where I’m shootin’ blanks more than anythin’ else. Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

“Joel—”

He cuts you off. “And if you’re worried I’m upset ‘bout you bein’ pregnant, you’re wrong ‘bout that too, darlin’.”

Surprised, you blurt, “You mean, you want the baby?”

Now it's his turn to be taken aback.

“Y’thought I wouldn’t want it?”

“Yeah,” you confess, sheepishly. “I thought you would be mad about this, if I’m being honest, Joel. I wasn’t sure if you’d even want anything to do with it.” Noticing he’d taken some offense to the notion that he wouldn’t want his own child, you exhale a small sigh and place a hand on his chest. “Come on, Joel, can you honestly blame me? When you were the one who was so damn worried about me getting knocked up in the first place? Wouldn’t you have thought the same if you were me?”

He grazes your cheek with his thumb. “Can’t lie to you, sweetheart. I probably would have.” Letting his hand fall away from your face, Joel takes a seat on the couch and pulls you down onto his lap. “Sure as hell wasn’t in my plans to have another kid in my fuckin’ fifties. But y’know, the idea of having a little one runnin’ around, it ain’t all that fuckin’ bad.” He pauses, adding with a faint grin, “‘Specially if he or she happens to look like you.”

Relieved, you lean into his chest, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. 

“You alright?” Joel murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair.

Burying your face into his neck, you breathe him in. “I am now that I’m with you,” you confess as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tighter than he ever has before.

“M’gonna take real good care of you, darlin’. Both of you,” Joel reassures you, softly. “Nothin’s gonna hurt you, baby. S’long as you’re with me, nothin’ or no one is ever gonna hurt you ever again. Swear it on my life.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #joel miller series #Joel Miller angst #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tw: dv #tw: domestic violence #tw: pregnancy

[therainscene]

I think I might have figured out what the Mind Flayer really is.

This theory has been percolating in my brain for a while now; it hasn't really finished baking yet but I wanted to get the gist of it down before The First Shadow debuts.

Let’s begin at the Hawkins National Lab, 6th November 1983. For the second time in her young life, El faces terrifying and deeply traumatic circumstances which cause her powers to lash out and rip a gash in the fabric of reality.

Meanwhile, across town, Will is doing what every queer 12 year-old has done and finds an excuse to spend an extra moment alone with his crush.

His little gay heart is as aflutter as the garage lights.

(Strange, that. The lights, I mean -- considering that he's on the other side of town from the lab. Do you suppose the Demogorgon trekked all the way to Mike's house and quietly followed him home again?)

Will heads home, lost in thought as he cycles past the lab. Is he thinking about how sweet his new X-Men #134 is gonna be? Or is he thinking about something even sweeter? The lights flutter again.

And something in front of him notices.

Will has always been noticeable: his clothes, his mannerisms, his interests -- they've always attracted the attentions of bullies. Now something new -- or maybe something that was always there and is only now making itself known -- has attracted the attentions of a monster.

He runs home, he calls for help, but he's alone, there's no escape. He races to the shed and loads a gun like his father taught him -- but it's not in his nature to be violent. He freezes, petrified.

The lights surge as his terror wrestles control of his powers and uses them to puncture an escape route in the fabric of reality.

Why were we so quick to believe that the Demogorgon -- a minion of the guy whose whole thing is his inability to open gates -- was able to open its own temporary portals in S1 and then never again?

Will could plausibly have been responsible for every temporary portal in S1: he’s at the Byers house when the Demogorgon pushes through its walls; he's on the run to Castle Byers when Nancy stumbles across that portal in the woods; and he's plugged in to one of Vecna's vines during the finale -- something we see Vecna plug himself into when he remotely opens gates in S4.

There’s one exception though.

Barb likely slipped through a gate in Steve's pool, but how could Will have opened that one when he was in his bedroom at the time, talking to his mother through the lights?

Let me ask you this: isn't it interesting that of all the injuries Barb could have obtained in her passage to the Upside Down, she got a nosebleed?

I think powers are more common than we’ve been led to believe, and gates are a last-ditch self-defense mechanism for anyone with powers.

This is why the four curse victims’ deaths opened a gate: Vecna pushed them to their breaking point to artificially trigger the self-defense response. Those headaches and nosebleeds weren't caused by Vecna directly, but by their own powers acting up as they inched towards oblivion.

[Shoutout to @givehimthemedicine's underrated powers and blood theory for the idea of Vecna's Curse being the overcharging of his victims' own powers.]

It was already pretty obvious that Vecna's Curse is a metaphor for suicide, and this theory reinforces it: every kid who gets targeted by the horrors of Hawkins for being "different" tries to find some way to escape.

Willel's misfortune is that their powers are considerably more easily manifested than the average person's. Byler tells the story of visible vs invisible queerness, but that's just a reflection of the larger theme at play in the show: the visible and invisible ways kids are othered and abused.

Max's trauma was a quiet thing that came from within and festered until it was almost too late to save her... but Willel's trauma manifests as a giant monster that openly hunts them down.

And I'm being literal when I say the Mind Flayer is a manifestation of their trauma.

We know that Vecna fashioned the Mind Flayer from a cloud of black particles he found in the Upside Down, but where did that cloud come from? The Upside Down is a mysterious enough place that it's easy to assume the Shadow is native to that realm... but what if it isn't?

The Mind Flayer is heavily associated with repression -- Will gradually lost his memories while he was possessed, and El lost her powers when the sliver of Flesh Flayer wormed its way into her leg.

But Will has mysteriously been without powers ever since leaving the Upside Down, and we've seen El lose memories too: her memories of surviving the lab massacre, in which she didn't simply escape by opening up a gate, but by disintegrating her attacker into black particles.

The Mind Flayer doesn't cause repression -- it is repression.

There must have been countless generations worth of traumatized children who took the extra step El did and sent their abusers -- or at least their memories of abuse -- into that hidden realm beyond the gate.

(There's also the possibility that Mr. Time-is-Just-a-Social-Construct is stuck in a time loop of some sort -- maybe the massacre has repeated hundreds of times, and Dimension X is a timeless graveyard of El's attempts to repress her trauma. This would explain why Henry seems to have both disintegrated and survived: we were watching at least two different iterations of the massacre all along.)

Whichever way you slice it, it's a perfect fit: the tool Vecna uses to perpetuate the cycle of abuse isn't some bizarro alien from an alternate dimension, but a direct consequence of the cycle itself.

The Mind Flayer tells us that escape alone doesn't work as a long-term solution: it might help you survive the initial abuse, but if you don't address the effect it had on you...

...it will come back to wreck havok.

[Edit: Click here for post-TFS thoughts on this theory]

#stranger things #will has powers #willel #byler #will byers #el hopper #max mayfield #barb holland #henry creel #mind flayer #my analysis

[undercoverpena]

epilogue. she might just be my everything and beyond

javier peña x f!reader | epilogue of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: here's the epilogue. two idiots pining for one another. fluff. flirting. continuous romcom vibes. falling in love. idiots in love. mention of olivia (steve's and connie's child) ✨ wordcount: 2.7k.

an: at the end.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

you keep flirting with me and ill drive myself over

Oh will you now?

use my key and everything

You have had very little reason to use it lately.

thats cause youre so desperate youre already at the door

Desperate or welcoming?

both

I can be less desperate next time, if you prefer.

dont you fucking dare baby

So when you coming over?

already putting my shoes on

It flies by, time.

One minute, he’s clutching your hands until your fingers slide from his. A promise in the air, one he knows you’ll keep because it's all temporary. Knowing that you’ll be right back, suitcase—and possessions following behind—as you move across the country. 

Within a blink, Javi is asking you where you want things to go, in the little place you chose with so much ease. Spotting you unpack a photo frame, the photo strip from Houston front and centre, sitting on a bed of receipts. 

The next, he’s sweating for reasons he’d rather not be.

His back twinging, protesting as he carries another box to the van. Your smile rises at the sight of him approaching, gesturing to pass it to you—still standing on the edge of the truck.

“Cariño. You’ve lived here six months. How have you amassed so much sh–tuff?”

Narrowing your eyes, taking the box and placing it on top of another, “Nice save.”

Sending you a sink, he smiles as you slide your hand in his to get down. Knowing he doesn’t ever need to feel them slide from his again—hopefully, no emotional goodbyes at the airport. Not ones that don’t involve you visiting someone for a long weekend here or there.

“Are you forgetting that I packed an entire suitcase the first time I saw you? Because knowing that information, I am surprised you’re confused that I’ve doubled my possessions since living here?”

Pulling you close, he focuses on how you feel warm against him—fitting against him perfectly. A feeling he’s had plenty of time to grow used to but finds he never does. How you slot with him, face turned upwards, looking at him like he moves mountains and walks across fire.

If you asked him, he would.

But you never do. You just look at him as though you know he would. Knowing he does.

He supposes it’s why you’re all set to move in with him. Into his home. His room.

This place—as lovely as it has been—will no longer be yours. The little home in the centre of town is tucked away above a video store that you’ve become a frequent customer of, whether he has plans with you or not.

From tomorrow morning, though, you’ll be waking up with him officially. The two of you have had months of it, where you’re there but not entirely with him. Even if, over time, your things have been left amongst his, some even finding themselves hanging alongside his. To the point a drawer was needed—and hangers. Still, for a while, when you said home, you had meant yours.

That was until the last few weeks. Your eyes shimmering, twinkling with the stars in the night sky, curled into his side. His green jacket, the one with the brown collar, wrapped around your shoulders, no longer smelled of old cigarette smoke and desperation but rather sweetness and hope. Your hand entwined with his:

Can we go home, baby?

Yeah, I can take you now.

No, to yours.

You poke him. Light, but purposeful. A little jab to bring him back, and the way you’re smiling at him—fuck. He can’t imagine a look that could make his heart double in size quicker. His thumb strokes alongside your cheek. His pink shirt—the one you had commandeered as your own—rolled up at the sleeves and tied at your waist.

Javi’s noticed you steal his clothes a lot. Fashion them into something that suits you better. He doesn’t moan. If anything, he makes it a purposeful thing to show you how much it means to him—how much he likes it, craves it.

“C’mon, only a few more boxes...”

Groaning, he buries his lips against yours, feeling your smile widen, grinning widely against him as you hold him close.

Your teeth pull at his bottom lip before releasing it with a pop, a twinkle to your eyes. “… think of it like this: once the van is packed, we get more time to say goodbye before I have to return the keys.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles, keeping you in place with two fingers under your chin. “And how do you plan on us saying goodbye, baby?”

Sliding your nose against his cheek. “Loudly. I plan on saying it loud, baby.”

You packed me a note in my lunch?

I did

It wasn’t very safe for work.

you said you eat your lunch at your desk

Yes but I’m not a loner, Javi. I do eat lunch with people.

lesson learned then baby

But yes.

yeah?

I don’t think the porch table will cope though, may have to think of a more stable surface.

I think I can think of something

No wood! I am not having you pick splinters out of my ass again, baby.

that was on you

I think it was on you and your speech about how beautiful I looked being a ranch-hand.

Do you fancy coming to my office Halloween party?

do I have to dress up

Yes. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll be dressed up too. 

before I decide what are you dressing up as 

That’s the incentive to come, if you say yes I’ll tell you.

do you want me there 

Yes! Want to show you off

then ill be there baby

Because you like being showed off?

yes. but also because you want me there

While outwardly, he’d protested the trip to Miami from the moment you booked it off work up until he was sat beside you on the place, he does see the beauty in it.

Although, Javi primarily suspects that it is down to you. You with your legs out, you in a bikini on the beach, robbing his shades until he buys you your own—a matching pair, something that makes Steve chuckle and Connie aww.

The lazy mornings that remind him of Houston are nice, too. The ones where neither of you are woken by an alarm or his Pop’s awful singing. The backdrop of the airy hotel room and a warm, gentle breeze blowing the sheer curtains as his thumbs dig into the back of your thighs and make you chant, is a bonus. 

Because Javi can make your skin glisten, and your body sing, whenever and wherever he gets the chance. 

What he can’t have at home with you is the sight of you fitting in so easily with the two people who have become a second family. The ones who have seen him go to lengths he hadn't known was possible, him and his old partner seeing things that only appear in occasional nightmares now. 

Connie and Steve welcomed you in with ease and with them, you smiled so effortlessly. Blending in like you were always there—laughter bursting out of you when you’re playing with Olivia. 

It's there, ever-present on the beach, as you chase Olivia around in the sand. The castles the two of you had been making long since trodden on, as the little girl squeals and squeals until she’s caught. 

“You should marry her.”

Turning his head, Steve nods towards the three of you. Connie snapping photos as you roll in the sand. The yellow tinge from his aviators adds an additional glow to the world as he eyes up his former partner-turned-friend—a friend who apparently now gives unwarranted marriage advice.

Scratching his chin, he rolls his jaw. “You giving me permission, Murph?”

“C’mon, Jav. She’s nice, good to you. Clearly makes you very fuckin’ happy.”

“Yeah, well. Maybe I’m already planning it.”

“Yeah? Fuck. Can’t wait to tell Connie. She told me I needed to convince you.”

Javi shrugs, pushing the glasses up his nose. “It so hard to believe I’d have come to that conclusion on my own?”

“Before you met her? Yeah. Since her? No. Could tell you were smitten—”

Snorting, Javi runs his hand across his chin. “I was not fucking smitten.”

“Yeah, you fucking was. No shame in that, Jav. No shame in enjoying one good woman.”

Groaning, he turns back to the laughter. The corner of his lips twitched, wishing to slide into his cheeks as he watches you throw your head back, neck exposed, as Olivia tries to do a handstand.

“I got the ring last month.”

“Shit.”

Turning his head, he narrows his eyes, watching Steve put his hands up in defence.

“You just said—“

“Yeah, well. Forgot how determined y’can be about things. Surprised me. S’not a bad thing,” Steve says. “Just, y’know. Years ago, I knew you as the man who fucked his way through—“

Elbowing him, Javi smirks as he hears Steve splutter. A sharp look added as Steve holds his hand up.

“I’m not that person anymore, Murphy.”

His friend nods, apology falling. The evidence that he means it stitching into his expression—that he was just joking, teasing. An explanation coming, that he knows how he’s changed—all words he would have once craved hearing. But since meeting you, he’d found even the teasing didn’t upset him as much.

Clapping his hand on his shoulder, Javi looks over his shades. “I know. Alright. Just, I don’t like the reminder, that's all. Feels like… feels like a lifetime ago.”

“Y’telling me.”

Snorting, Javi slides his hand off. Moving his eyes back to the sight of Olivia grinning at the two of them. Her small hand trying to cover her mouth as she whispers something to you, something which Javi suspects involves him from the way she’s running full speed towards him.

“She’s grown up so quickly.”

He’s about to reply, but Olivia interrupts—skidding to a stop in the sand, kicking it across his feet. Swiftly, her hand—all small and delicate—wraps around and tugs on his hand.

“Uncle Javi, can you come play?”

Over the top of her, he spots you. Leaning your weight on one side, hand covering your brows to watch his expression.

And fuck, how can he say no to either of you.

hows pops?

He’s good. In fact, enough to be getting your Mom’s cookbooks down from the shelf for me.

I hope you know thats him saying he loves you

He has told me how much it means to him that I wanted these. Also keeps telling me that he’s happy they’ll be staying in the family.

bet that made you cry didn’t it 

Yes! Obviously. 

youre so cute baby

In my defence he caught me off guard with the comment, I was busy staring and deciphering the handwritten notes.

not gonna be able to read them now if youve cried all over them

As always, you’re hilarious. I obviously didn’t cry into the book! I cried in the bathroom.

you turn the tap on to try and hide it again

Shut up, Javi.

i should be back soon, just grabbing the parts now

Don’t rush, he’s fine. Promise. He even says his back is barely giving him any problems since I told him I’d cook from the book.

what you cooking?

Come home safe and find out.

youre such a tease 

Learned it from you baby. 

At one stage, Javi had been good with people.

Persuasive.

Now, he’s unsure if he even knows how to ask for a favour without giving something up or flirting.

He’s still charismatic, or so you tell him. But, he's pretty sure his tact has gone, impatience bubbling as he tries to pretend to give enough of a shit to be able to ask for the favour he wants.

For you, he decides to push through. To not walk back through the door he came through. He does stuff his hands into his jacket, the man staring at him, still wearing the same confused expression he had when Javi first stepped through the door.

Because even if he’s explained three fucking times, the man still doesn’t understand why he asked him to create the crossword he’s got clutched in his hands. 

The one that would never even go to print—just a single request. A favour. All personal, just for him. Not to be published in every newspaper, but just one.

The one for him, and him alone.

It didn't matter how many ways he explained it, the man remained confused. Only reluctantly accepting, he's sure, to get him to leave.

That had been days ago. Now, you're ahead of him. Your fingers brushing over the tops of long stands, occasionally looking over your shoulder at him, making him feel like he's stepped into one of the movies you've made him watch. 

Even when you look ahead, he can tell you’re grinning from behind—taking the view in. It's 'one of your favourites', something you’d told him the first time he brought you here. 

It’s why he brought you here, now.

Second to you, of course, baby. 

You stop some distance ahead, beginning to place down a blanket, all chequered and soft, as he comes to join you. Placing the basket in his hand down on the edge of it, before your fingers are swatting at him and undoing the ties before you grasp the bottle, food and other bits.

Not that he can eat, needing more than what the wine you’d grabbed would do.

Nerves bubbling, dancing and fluttering like the flies further down the hill. You don't notice. You're focused on the newspaper, the crossword he's not let you see for the last few hours, taunting you, making you wait.

He almost wishes he hadn't when it adds to the knot in his stomach, it tightening more when you become irritated at his coyness as he's reading out the clues—

Javi, what are you up to? You always do down, across, down. Always.

You’d have made a good detective or DEA agent.

Likely given him and Murphy a run for their money—something Steve had even said to you both when the two of you were in Miami. Sand in your toes, sea air in your hair—grin brighter than the sun.

“Give it here,” you say, not sharply, but not playfully either.

His hand wipes his lower mouth, hiding his smirk, having wanted you to do that for the past fifteen minutes.

When you take the crossword, you’re chewing. 

Distracted, barely able to spot him sliding the remainder of your punnet from reach. Because Javi remembers how you feel about being asked any critical questions when you are eating.

He supposes it's the one benefit of you making him watch so many romcoms. It allowed him to do market research and ask questions without raising your suspicion, such as where wouldn't you like to be asked and if you want him down on one knee. 

Mainly, I don’t want to have food in my teeth when I’m being asked. Don't want to spit any leftovers at you in my shock.  

“Hey,” he whispers, stealing your attention—watching you smile, glancing at your clean teeth. “Eres preciosa.”

Your lips slide, curling up into your cheek. “You’re such a flirt, Peña.”

Kissing your cheek, he keeps his arm around you. Fingers playing with the fabric on your hip—balling it up before smoothing it out. Thumb and index brushing, calming, soothing him as your eyes glance over the page.

Occasionally, asking him things, avoiding the clues he desperately wants you to solve.

Until.

Fuck, until.

“Javi.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles, pretending indifference, head tilted down, resting his chin on your shoulder—knowing from the high-pitched way you said this name that you’ve already cracked it.

Your fingers slide over the paper, smothering the white and black boxes from view. “Javi?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I think that’s my reply, isn’t it?”

Lips curling, he wraps his fingers around your chin, turning you to face him. Watching it happen in slow motion, how you smile before you grin—tears all but filling your eyes as you clearly try not to get ahead of yourself.

“You wanna make me less lonely, cariño?”

Swallowing, you drop the paper. Let it fall to the blanket, twisting your body until your knees are between his thighs as you take both sides of his cheeks.

“Sí.”

“Sí?”

Nodding, a tear falls. It's one shimmering with joy and happiness, his thumb swiping it, spreading it across your skin.

“I don’t know… I don’t know the translation,” you laugh, it spluttering, fingers stroking his skin. “But I’ll marry you. I love you. Yes, Javi.”

And he whispers it.

The translation. Pressing it, as well as I love you, to your lips as his arms snake further around your waist. Hearing you, all quiet, it almost buried in kisses, repeating the translation back.

Before he falls backwards into the grass, with you on top of him—his fiancé. His world.

you fancy coming to laredo in autumn

Any particular reason?

been told I need a best man and I only know you

an: gosh, here we are. i began writing late night texts one night after a chaotic chat with @guyfieriii because i was manic/sad/anxious all at once and it was the only logical thing i could focus on. as much as javi and reader saved one another, they saved me too. thank you to you lovely lot. not only did you welcome this in with open arms, but you cheered me on every single week (also, btw, how cool is it we didn't miss a single week omg). i owe you so much, and i cannot believe we made it here together. to the old followers, i see you. to the new ones who just discovered me, hey, welcome. to all of the friends I've harrassed over the last few months, i love you. to the new ones I've made, i also love you omg. i'm already missing this pair so much, and i cannot wait until we get to hang out with them sporadically. i'm going to go cry in a corner, but just know my heart is so full and so happy and it's all down to you all 🩷

#javier peña x reader #javi peña x reader #javi peña x you #javier peña x you #narcos x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javi pena x reader #narcos javier x reader #narcos javier #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #pedrostories #mm: late night texts #javier peña fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic

[bettdraws]

This is a wild Elucien headcanon…

but please imagine Lucien being in a really dangerous situation with the Autumn court, like something happened and they have him as a prisoner, or unable to leave.

And Elain is there listening to how Lucien could potentially be held captive in a cold cell or even tortured.

And shes there when Eris says the only way to save him is if he has real ties to the Night Court or if he officially becomes a member, and the only way to do that is if he gets mated/married to someone from there, not anyone, but the High Lady’s sister.

And everyone is outraged with what he is suggesting but Elain is suddenly quiet.

And she suddenly says “I will do it” and everyone gapes at her, some try to talk her out of it (possibly Feyre or Nesta) but Rhys just nods.

And they send notice to the Autumn court that they cannot harm Lucien because he is a Night Court citizen, but Beron doesn’t believe it, he demands that Elain goes there so he can determine it.

Chaos, outrage, but she agrees, and she obviously doesn’t go alone. She convinces herself that while she doesn’t owe Lucien anything, she is tired of the bloodshed, the loss, and if she has the power in her hands, she will act. That is all, she couldn’t care less about him. She convinces herself she would be this worried for anyone that is close to her sister, it’s not because shes worried and scared and petrified of something bad happening to him.

They’re in the Forest House, they bring out Lucien who is luckily generally unharmed but Elain looks at the binds in his wrists and her whole body reacts to the sudden urge to protect. Beron takes one sniff at them and knows it is true. They’re mates. But Beron says an unfulfilled mating bond is not valid (listen idk about these fae laws bear with me) they need to marry. Elain declares that was the plan all along. Lucien is shocked. (I just imagine what must be going through his head seeing his mate stand before Beron in the same room where Jesminda was killed)

They let Lucien go with his mate but they have to stay in the Forest House until everything gets resolved. Elain and Lucien are shoved into a room, no more chains on him, but he doesn’t understand any of it.

Both of them are standing awkwardly in the room. Lucien is staring at her as if she has grown ears, still shocked, still reliving moments, furious at them for being so dumb as to risk themselves for him. He supposed he really was a big asset for Rhys to have done this. But her… why was she here? Why did she put herself in this position?

“Did they make you do this?” He says through his teeth.

She muses on what to say. “No” she gets offended with the assumption that she can’t make decisions for herself. “I agreed to this and came on my own free will”

“Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I’m tired of people dying, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I could have done something” A silence and for some forsaken reason Elain has the need to add. “This doesn’t mean what you think it means”

Something irks at Lucien then, and the awoken nerves on his body make him respond to that. “And please tell, Lady, what do I think it means?”

Elain clenches her fists. “That I’ve changed my mind about you… about this” She signals between them. “This is just temporary, out of necessity”

Lucien just stares at her.

“I never entertained that you did, I can assure you.” It is easier to turn on her, on this beautiful female that is putting herself at risk for him, than to be hurt at the continuing rejection from her. “You’ve always just assumed that I’m some brute fae that wants to steal you away, let me tell you now that we’re speaking frankly, that its not the case. I can’t control the pull from the bond, but I have no interest in pursuing a female who doesn’t want me”

That sends Elain to retaliate. “What about the gifts then, was that not pursuing?” She cocks her head arrogantly.

“I was bringing them to Feyre as well. That was me being polite, but guess you don’t know the first thing about that”

“You are one to talk about politeness when I’m here risking my life for your neck and this is how you treat me” She takes one step closer.

“I never asked you to do it” He mirrors her and steps closer with his broad hands clenched in fists.

“I will just let you die next time then”

“Fine by me, as long as I don’t have to endure you shoving it on my face”

“Asshole”

“I’ve been called worse” A sly, angry smile creeps at one corner of his mouth. She suddenly realizes they’re breathing on each other’s face.

“And all this time I thought you were a gentleman” She summons her anger to keep focused.

“You will learn I can be a gentleman, Elain” Her name on his lips, for the first time. “But I can be so much worse too”

His breath is hot on her face, their hearts already beating fast.

“You admit you were pretending then, to win me over”

A sharp breathy laugh from him. “If I wanted to win you over, I would not have tried to be gentle”

Her lips form a thin line as she holds herself, the pull, his words, the sudden effect of his mismatched gaze intense on her face.

“You shouldn’t have done this” He says quietly, roughly, his eyes showing something beyond just annoyance, she sees the fear in them. She pushes it back.

“What’s done is done” She says. “We will pretend, see this through, and then we’re done”

“Alright, dove”

She’s startled. Her nostrils flare. She ignores the outrageous pet name he just used on her. “I’m going to take a bath, I suggest you do the same, you stink” She begins to walk away and stops herself “I mean after I’m done” She frowns as she strolls away.

He watches her with sudden amusement.

He’s scared, hes pissed and hurt. He’s tired. But something inside him sparks, and he can’t really put a name to it.

Oh he’s not alright.

#guys im not a writer but I had to put this out there #if youre a writer PLEASE TAKE THIS I NEED IT #elucien #pro elucien #marriage of convenience #the best trope im sorry #pro lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #elain x lucien #autumn court drama #elucien headcanon #elucien one shot #elain and lucien banter will EAT

[ghouljams]

Ahhhhhh, I’m so in love with your Fae au, you have no idea (your Cowboy Au as well but the Fae au is what I’m primarily focusing on at this moment). And I just….I must ask…..CHANGELINGS!!!! What are changelings like in your au? (It’s one of my favorite creatures and I’m just dying to know what you think of them and AHHHHHH, now I’m rambling, sorry). Also, can I be ☀️ Anon or is that already taken?

Hello Sun!! I have no emoji anons so feel free to take it! I look forward to seeing more of you.

Changelings are one of my favorite pieces of fae myth! They occupy a really important space in verbal/story telling history as part of the "why is my kid like that™️?" genre. I have my own thoughts on what changelings were meant to discuss and serve as a vehicle for, but I will save them for another day.

More importantly they do exist in this au! Neither of our current darlings will be saddled with one, but König's Darling would be able to identify them since she can see the fae to a certain degree. So I'm going to use her as the victim of babysitting a fae child, and also do a little cameo of one of my OCs. So without further ado:

It looks like a human toddler. You stare down at it, half way through flipping your shop sign to open. It stares up at you. Its little pointed ears and tail are almost cute, the thorny teeth it smiles at you with not so much. How did it get here? More importantly, what the hell are you supposed to do with it? Do you call the police and report a found baby monster?

König would know what to do. The thought is hardly in your head before sound and syllables form on your lips. You don't even hear what you're saying, it’s like a ringing in your ears, but you barely get through half before his hand covers your mouth and his arm wraps around your waist. You can feel König's smile against the shell of your ear before he nuzzles against your neck, nose pressing to your pulse.

"You called me!" he says, giddy. You didn't even realize that was what you were doing. You try to speak against his hand, but it comes out terribly muffled. "Ah," he laughs, removing his hand, "Pardon me."

"Who's goddamn baby is that?" You ask again. You feel all of König's attention shift to follow your pointing finger. Then his mask falls clothed and heavy against your shoulder, obscuring his face.

"Is it yours?" He asks, his fingers splay wide against your stomach, the tips of them starting to sink under your skin. "Ah but that would make it mine too-" you won't dignify that with a response, "-not yours then."

You glance at König, what you can see of him at least. His eyes stare wide and hungry down at the thing, you can tell he’s drooling under the mask even without seeing it. Goddammit, you can’t let him eat this kid. You smack at his hand where it has -you shiver and try not to think about it- until he lets you go. Then you scoop up the tiny thing and bounce it against your hip. It smells like baby powder, and roses.

Your temporary baby is quiet and watchful on your hip as you putter around the store helping customers, König never far out of reach. You think he’s… worried? About you and the baby monster, weird vibes from him today. The kid isn’t too bad though, sort of reminds you of your autistic niece when she was its age. It’s almost lunch when an impeccably dressed woman comes through the door and glances around the shop.

The baby monster reacts immediately. Screaming at the top of its little lungs so loudly that König’s hands clap over your ears. Thankfully the rest of the shop is fairly empty, but the woman fixes her eyes on it, and you. It’s not a large shop but you’re still shocked by how quickly she crosses it and plucks the baby from your hands. She has petals all over her face, and her eyes are just on the wrong side of too big, she’s pretty if unsettling to look at. She grabs your hand and you don’t have time to tell her no before she ignores your curling fingers and presses her lips to your palm.

“As payment for watching my child,” She smiles, and you’re glad to see that thorn teeth are genetic. You’re more happy when she leaves. 

You and König stare down at the heavy seed in your hand.

“We are not planting that,” he says.

“Done and done, I’m not looking to turn this place into the little shop of horrors.” 

“You look cute with a baby.”

“Not happening.”

#☀️ anon #Konig staring at the baby: I want one #Darling: to eat? #Konig: eye emoji #Darling: please say to eat #fae!konig #konig x reader #konig mw2 #konig x you #reader x konig #cod x reader

[rileyslibrary]

HELLO!!!! Soo i was wondering if you could do a very strictly platonic COD MW2 141 (or others, whatever u want!) x gn or fem (she/they pronouns or they/them pronouns, both are fine to me) reader 😸 it can be them interacting, or on a mission, or something along those lines!!! For aome specifications, i was thinking of the reader being the youngest in the 141, but still very skilled at what they do. Lots of love!!! ❤️❤️

Hmmm…I believe have just the thing for you, anon! *climbs up the rolling library ladder and comes down with a story*. I was saving this for another time but, here, you can have it.

(It doesn’t have everything you requested in it, and I added a few things here and there, but I think it works. Enjoy!)

———————————————————————

“Are they okay?”

“I don’t know, but I think they’re breathing.”

“You sure?”

Soap hikes up his pants and settles on a bench, a few meters away from where your body lies. He tilts his head and squints his eyes, searching for any signs of movement.

“Yes,” he finally says to Gaz, who sits beside him, legs stretched out and back resting against the concrete wall. “You’re right—they’re breathing.”

You all just returned to your temporary base from your latest mission, exhausted but unharmed. It has been a while since you managed to secure a win, and a much-needed one at that, after a string of defeats which began to take a toll on the team’s morale. Fights started to break out, filled with little jabs of what could have been done better, whose fault it was, and pointing fingers instead of acknowledging the team’s effort.

On the outside, you maintained a professional facade for the contractors and the world, but the strain was beginning to show behind closed doors. It was like a house with a pristine front porch, while the backyard concealed a chaotic mess, hidden from view.

But this time, you nailed it—all of you. Whether it was luck, improved communication, better strategy, or the alignment of stars, you managed to come through. And suddenly, the future seemed a little brighter, for now.

“I can hear you, you know.” You murmur, slowly pushing yourself up into a seated position.

“Didn’t mean to disturb you,” Soap says, “we were just making sure you were alright; you took quite the beating earlier.”

You give him a tired smile. “No worries,” you reply, stretching your arms and legs. “I was just doing some breathing exercises to relax.”

“You know,” he says to Gaz, “I read about these breathing exercises, and they’re supposed to—”

“You read?”

Your attention shifts to the corner nearby, where Ghost and Price stand, engaged in their conversation about the mission. Price smiles at Ghost’s comment, but Ghost’s tone suggests he isn’t joking. It’s hard to tell since his voice always sounds the same, whether telling jokes or giving orders.

“Yes,” Soap replies, “and they say it’s supposed to help calm certain edgy, skull-faced boys.”

“As a matter of fact, I think you would all benefit from this,” you state, spreading your arms wide, inviting them to join you. “Lie down.”

“Not my way of calming down, kid,” Ghost replies, “I’d much rather prefer a glass of bourbon.”

“Do you have a glass of bourbon right now, Lt?”

“No.”

“Then lie down.”

“Order me one more time, you little sh-”

Price claps his hands once and places his right hand on Ghost’s shoulder, giving him gentle pats.

“Come on, brother,” he says, “We have nothing else to do right now—our flight won’t be arriving anytime soon, and my back is killing me.”

You’ve often wondered what makes the Lieutenant so salty, and each time you resorted to blaming that mask of his. Having it on all the time must be uncomfortable, like a bra that you can’t wait to sling across the room at the end of a long day. But you never doubted what brings him back to his senses or at least makes him more accepting—it was Price himself.

Ghost sighs and removes the towel he had draped over his shoulder. He places it on the ground and lies down. Soap, Gaz, and Price follow his lead, with Price placing a towel while the others rest directly on the concrete. Ghost mutters something like “ya filthy mutts” under his breath, and you make soothing hushing noises to prevent any potential conflict from arising. The last thing you want right now is a simple breathing exercise to turn into a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu session.

You wait for them to settle in a comfortable position, and with a gentle voice, you begin guiding them through.

“Let’s start by taking a deep breath through the nose,” you whisper. “Feel the air fill your lungs. Hold it in, then slowly exhale through your mouth.”

You continue the guidance, leading them through a series of deep breaths. You focus on the softness in your voice and pair it with the rhythm of your words to create a soothing cadence.

“As you inhale, imagine a wave washing over you,” you continue. “And as you exhale, imagine releasing any burden, letting it drift away with each breath.”

As you guide them through the breathing exercise, everything becomes so serene, even for you, who acts as their guide. There’s some heavy breathing and slight shifting here and there, but that’s much better than the usual arguments, yelling, and complaints. There are no more blame games or defeated postures. You have all worked so hard. Now you and the team can finally find some peace.

You twist your body to look at your teammates, and a smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you find them all asleep, like children at nap time.

Ghost has one hand behind his head, the other resting on his chest. He has finally let go of the tension that usually consumes him. So much for that glass of bourbon, Lieutenant, you think to yourself.

Soap is curled up to the side, with his knees drawn closer to his body. He has formed a pillow with his hands and placed them under his head.

Next to him, Gaz lies on his back, one leg straight and the other bent to the side, like a ballerina caught mid-spin.

Price placed his hat on his face, shielding his eyes from the light. His legs are crossed, and his fingers are interlocked on his stomach.

You continue speaking, but softer now, to avoid waking them. You rise up, careful not to disturb them, and move silently to the door, leaving it slightly open, to not startle them upon closing it.

You step out into the hallway and close your eyes, taking one deep breath of your own.

———————————————————————

#task force 141 x reader #141 x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price #task force 141 #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #cod fanfic #cod mw2 fanfic

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // TWELVE

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: The Tales of Ba Sing Se: The Tale of Princess Y/N

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.1k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: going to say it right here right now…this chapter is 75% crack and goofy nonsense shenanigans LMAOAO. mostly because zuko and y/n’s relationship is so i see the light from tangled across the stars from star wars etc etc but the main man of this chapter & y/n are just the subway surfers theme song personified

“I’m very confused,” you said, sitting on Quynh’s front paw and gazing up at her beseechingly. “I need your help, Quynh.”

“I was questioning why you stayed here with me instead of running off to that tea shop you love so much,” she said, inclining her nose towards you. “What is the matter?”

“It’s about the tea shop,” you said. “Or, specifically, a certain employee.”

“That boy you met? Lee?” she said. Her muzzle wrinkled, though it was with concern, not anger. “Has he done something wrong to you?”

“No, not at all,” you said. “Well. Maybe a little bit, but he’s not quite aware that he’s done anything. And then there’s the whole problem with the Blue Spirit…”

“Your mysterious savior? What is his relation to the situation?” she said. “Dearest Y/N, you must explain at once before I am irreversibly angered.”

“Lee makes me feel bizarre!” you said, throwing your hands in the air. Quynh blinked at you.

“Makes you feel bizarre?” she said.

“Yes,” you said. “Incredibly so.”

There was really no other adjective for what it was. It was unprecedented, the kind of emotion you had never felt before, not for anyone – bar the Blue Spirit, but it was different even then. Of the same foundation, but taking a different form.

“You’ll have to explain a little more,” she said.

“It’s like my stomach is in knots,” you said. “And as if my heart has turned to a bird and is fluttering its wings about! What is this power that he has, that he can send my body into fits? But, for all that, I still want to be around him. It matters not what we are doing; as long as he is there, I am happy. Yet how can I be happy? He is driving me to failure! Why, for all I know, he really might bring about my death!”

For a moment, Quynh was silent, and then her body began to rumble. You were vindicated for a bit, thinking that she was growling with protective instinct, but your temporary satisfaction immediately vanished when you realized she was laughing.

“For a girl who spends so much time reading about so many different topics, you know so little of the world,” she said. “Though then again, this is the kind of thing that you have to experience to understand.”

“What are you talking about?” you said.

“He doesn’t have any special powers, and you aren’t going to die,” she said. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you like him.”

Your mind blanked. The thought of you liking Lee was utterly preposterous. Lee, the snarky tea server? Lee, the passionate super-fan of The Mask of the Blue Spirit? Lee, who’d just as soon say something rude as he would something kind? If Quynh was to be believed, then that Lee was someone you liked, but that just wasn’t right.

“No way!” you said. “I can’t have feelings for Lee.”

“Why not?” Quynh said.

“He’s Lee!” you said helplessly. “It’s just — it’s just not how things are supposed to go.”

“Then how are things supposed to go?” she said. “Why is there a certain way that it must all happen? Things are rarely if ever set in stone, even in a kingdom made up of Earthbenders.”

“The Blue Spirit,” you said. “It’s supposed to be him. He’s the one who’s saved me, the one who knows the truth of my bending and my identity. He’s the one I’m meant to like.”

“You told him you’re a bender?” Quynh said. “That’s a new development. I thought you didn’t want to tell anyone.”

“It’s that there was no one I could trust to tell,” you said. “Until him. If a man has saved your life twice, then you can expect that he will do so a third time as well, right? So I did not feel afraid in revealing that part of me to him. I’d reveal anything to him if he asked.”

“Then there is a conundrum,” Quynh said.

“Exactly. That’s why I can’t like Lee,” you said. “It’s the Blue Spirit. There is no doubt in my mind that he is the person you foresaw me finding.”

“Hm,” Quynh said. “Do you think so?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “Lee reminds me that I am more than just a princess. I can live a different kind of life when I am with him — a happier kind. But the fact is that I am a princess, and the Blue Spirit shows me what that genuinely means. The reality of the world beyond the palace walls…if it were not for him, I’d still be blind to it all.”

Quynh sighed. “It’s not like you know who the Blue Spirit is.”

“No matter who he is underneath the mask, he’ll always be the Blue Spirit. He’ll always be the person who saved me,” you said, and then you slapped your hand over your mouth. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Quynh parroted. “Why are you saying that?”

“I just — I just accidentally quoted Jin!” you said. Quynh, who, being a bear spirit, was not exactly well-read, huffed at you.

“Am I meant to know who Jin is?” she said.

“She’s a character in The Mask of the Blue Spirit,” you said.

“Okay,” she said.

“That line is a part of the ending I detest! Have I become such a shallow person that I bear a resemblance to her of all characters? What will Lee think? It’s our greatest point of contention, that we do not agree on the ending, but if I’ve gone and adopted her worldview, then that means I do subconsciously like it!” you wailed.

Once more, Quynh began to laugh, nudging you and knocking you over, though she caught you in her other paw before you could hit the ground. Putting you back in your comfortable spot nestled against her fur, she continued to chuckle as she spoke.

“Quoting a single line does not mean you agree with everything a character has done,” she said. “And what does it matter to you what Lee thinks?”

“It just does,” you said. “It really matters to me.”

“Princess, I think that your dilemma is not a dilemma at all,” she said.

“Huh? Yes, it is!” you said.

“It’s not,” she said. “If you search within yourself, you will know the truth. Even in just this conversation, even without seeking it out, I have found it. And no one can know your heart better than you, so there is no reason that you cannot do the same.”

“I’ve been searching! But no answer has made itself apparent,” you said.

“Keep looking,” she said. “One day, it will. Until then, you needn’t decide anything. No one is forcing your hand.”

That was true. It wasn’t as if you were being threatened into a decision, into an acknowledgment. If your feelings really were the kind that Quynh was suggesting, then things would be spoiled, so you vowed to push them aside for now and focus on other, more pressing matters.

“That’s not the only subject that I have been mulling over recently. Quynh, do you think I would have made a better queen than Kuei is king?” you said. Her ears pricked, and her voice took on an alarmed cast when she responded.

“I know you don’t mean to be seditious, but the implication is there,” she said.

“Maybe it is seditious, but I still want your answer. The Earth Kingdom was built on your back; you’ve witnessed every monarch’s reign, every king’s rise and fall, every war and each bloody moment in the land’s history. No one would know better than you if I made the right decision all of those years ago,” you said.

“It’s not so simple,” she said. “Every king has inherited a different world than their predecessors. Some anre easier times than others, but all have their variances. Kuei is not a bad king, believe it or not. He is an uneducated one, an ignorant one, perhaps even an inept one, but he is not a bad one. He was one born to rule over a world at peace, one born to mature slowly and reign in old age, and he was given none of those considerations.”

“What about me?” you said.

“You are a princess who wants to love her people very much,” she said. “There’s always a place for that kind of royalty. However, there’s no saying what kind of ruler you would’ve been; the likelihood is that you would’ve been the same as your brother. Children are not meant to rule, dear girl. Remember it well; a boy should not be king any more than a crook should.”

You swallowed. “If only our father were still here. Things would be better.”

The father who you had never met, yet whose absence you mourned daily anew. If he were still alive, then would Ba Sing Se be as troubled as it had become under your brother’s command? You tried to imagine what kind of a man he would be. The 51st Earth King…you had read the stories and the songs until you had memorized them, but they were flimsy replacements for knowing him, for loving him.

You envied Kuei in that sense. He had met your parents. He had loved your parents and been loved by them in return. Neither of them had even known you long enough to love you. Were it not for Quynh and Kuei, you wouldn’t have been loved by anyone at all.

“They would be,” Quynh said. “But your father is gone, Y/N, and you cannot change the past. For better or for worse, your brother is the king.”

“Ba Sing Se is falling apart,” you said. “The great capital that you and Shan built is crumbling under Kuei’s control. The worst part is that he does not even know it, and he would not believe me if I told him! Isn’t it a sad twist? That I am the one with the knowledge but not the power, and he is the one who knows nothing yet has everything!”

“You are still a princess,” Quynh said. “Not a king nor a queen, but you are still the second-most powerful person in this kingdom. You are not as helpless as you are determined to believe yourself.”

“What can I do?” you said.

She angled her paw so that you slid off of it and onto your feet, and then she curled back up in her usual position. A door opened, one that must’ve led to Ba Sing Se, and she let out a gravelly exhale.

“If there is a problem, then you must understand it,” she said. “Only then can you begin to fix it. Do you understand what is happening in the city at present? In your own palace?”

“Not really,” you said. “Do you?”

“I do, but I also do not,” she said. “It’s an internal knowledge that I cannot explain to anyone else, but I am aware of it. Like an itch on my back which I cannot reach.”

“Spirit nonsense,” you said. “No matter. You’re right; even if Lee cannot tell me, there must be some way I can suss things out.”

“It’s a large city,” Quynh agreed. “There will be someone willing to help you. You only need to find them. As you found the Blue Spirit. As you found Lee.”

“Do you think I can?” you said.

“I think you can do a lot more than you are aware of,” she said. “You remind me of someone else. Someone I knew a very long time ago.”

“One of my ancestors?” you said.

“My own brother,” she said. “It has been ages upon ages since I saw him last. I thought that I could not quite recall his face anymore, but then I saw yours, and I knew that it had to be the same. I knew that he had come to be at my side again, however briefly.”

Her brother — Shan. The founder of the Earth Kingdom, who had against all odds taken a continent at war and turned it into a single nation that was united and powerful beyond even the wildest dreams of his contemporaries. What kind of equivalency was that? Who would think to compare you with the legendary first king?

You thought that Quynh’s passageway would lead you to the tea shop, as it usually did, but instead it spit you out in front of a building far too elegant to be in the Lower Ring. That meant you must’ve been in the Upper Ring, where the wealthier residents of Ba Sing Se stayed.

“Why am I here?” you muttered. Reading the sign hung above the door, you saw that the building was a girls’ poetry house. When you strained your ears, you heard the dulcet tones of recited haikus being whispered back and forth, though an unexpected addition made you pause. “That’s an awfully masculine sounding girl…”

All of a sudden, the door slammed open, and a man in a security uniform tossed out a boy clad in blue. Your eyes widened as he came flying at you, knocking you to the floor beneath him with the force of the guard’s throw.

“Aw, man,” the boy groaned. “I was just trying to show my appreciation for poetry — woah! When did you get here?”

His eyes were a bright, clear blue, though it was not the dark shade of the Blue Spirit’s mask, but rather a luminous, glittering color that pierced straight through you. For a moment, you thought that he must’ve known your every secret and intimacy — such was the depth of his gaze. But it only lasted for a moment, after which you remembered that there was no way he could’ve come to know it all just by looking at you.

“I was just passing by, and then that boorish security threw you at me!” you said. The boy leapt to his feet and offered you his hand, pulling you up when you took it and giving you a wide grin in return.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said, shaking the hand he had already captured in his own vigorously. “I’m Sokka!”

“Y/N,” you said. He narrowed his eyes at you, leaning closer and scrutinizing you, an ordeal for which you stayed entirely still. Only when he was finally satisfied did he straighten, though he was still frowning slightly.

“That name is mighty familiar,” he said. “Have we met or something? I feel like I know you.”

“I…used to be in the circus?” you said, silently apologizing to Lee and Mushi for stealing their personal backgrounds for your cover story. “A very well-regarded one. I was, um, famous. For my acrobatics. That’s probably where you recognize me from.”

You hoped Mushi wouldn’t be upset that you had just appropriated his identity. It was the only one you could think of without the time to prepare in advance, and even then only because it was on your mind due to how absurd you had found it when Lee had mentioned it.

“We haven’t visited any circuses on our trip,” Sokka said. “So that can’t be it.”

“I’m a household name!” you said. “The main attractions tend to be, you know. Everyone across the Earth Kingdom knows who I am.”

This was actually not a lie. It would be difficult to find a single family who had not at least heard of you, but it wasn’t because of your nonexistent acrobatic prowess. Either way, it must have been convincing enough, as Sokka just shrugged it off.

“If you say so,” he said. “Can you do a cartwheel?”

“Not in a dress, I can’t,” you said. “Don’t be foolish. How would I possibly maneuver my limbs in that way with all of this fabric obstructing me?”

“Aw, I was really hoping you could show me how it’s done! I’ve always wanted to learn how to cartwheel,” Sokka said as the two of you began to walk away from the poetry house. He swung his arms by his sides as he walked, with a lackadaisical looseness you had never observed so closely before. Even Lee, Mushi, and the Blue Spirit had neat, contained manners to their gaits, each movement done with purpose, but Sokka was haphazard and almost unwieldy in his grace.

“If I were wearing pants, I might be able to demonstrate, but as it is, you’ll have to find another teacher,” you said.

“Wait! I have the best idea ever!” Sokka said. “You’re going to love this.”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting when he said that, but whatever it had been, it was not this. It did not come as a surprise that you did not love it; in fact, you were more befuddled than anything.

Sokka’s clothes did not by any means fit you properly, and the same could be said for your dress on his frame. He did not seem to mind, though, giving you a double-thumbs-up when he emerged from behind the wall where he had changed.

“You look great!” he said.

“I don’t know that I can say the same about you, but in the interest of being polite, I should like to tell you that you appear radiant at the moment,” you said.

“Why’re you speaking like you’re about to give a speech or something? Seriously, you Upper Ring folk are so weird,” he said.

“Aren’t you also one of the Upper Ring folk?” you said. “Considering I’ve met you here, you must be.”

“Nah, I’m just a visitor,” he said.

“But a very important one. Not everyone is lodged in the Upper Ring,” you said. Sokka blushed and waved you off.

“I know a guy or two,” he said. “No biggie, just another day in the life. But enough talking! Let’s get to cartwheeling. This is a moment I’ve dreamed of for a long time!”

“I hope you’ve been dreaming of being disappointed for equally as long,” you said.

“What’d you say?” he said.

“Nothing,” you said.

“Then what are we waiting for?” he said. “Show me how it’s done!”

There was a problem: you had no idea how to do a cartwheel. If only it were Mushi in your place! According to Lee, he was supremely flexible, and he had his circus training. As well, his patient and kind demeanor meant that he would be uniquely suited to being Sokka’s cartwheeling mentor. At any rate, he’d be better than you at the job, though that wasn’t really a high bar.

“Here goes nothing,” you said, taking a deep breath and raising your arms over your head. Trying to emulate what you had heard about the movement, you took a step forward and tried to push off with your back leg.

Somehow, it happened that your slipper came flying off, smacking Sokka in the face as you lost your balance and landed in a heap on the cobblestones of the street. Sokka shrieked as he, too, was knocked over, though through the dim awareness you had of the situation, you could not quite discern how a mere shoe had been enough to warrant that much of a reaction.

“I think you’re bad luck,” he said, rubbing his head. “No wonder you left the circus. I can’t believe they kept you around for as long as they did!”

“I’m out of practice,” you said, accepting the shoe he passed you and putting it back on. “Could I have my clothes back, perhaps? Or have you taken a liking to them? Because I do not think you wear green as well as I do.”

“Hey!”

Once you and he were back in your regular clothes, you readied yourself to wish Sokka farewell. You weren’t really sure what he was doing or why he was in the Upper Ring, but you thought it was safe to say that he was not the person Quynh was talking about, the one who would be willing to help you in solving the problems of your kingdom.

“I still can’t shake the feeling that you remind me of someone,” Sokka said.

“Do you have any siblings?” you said.

“A younger sister,” he said.

“It’s probably her. I’m a younger sister, too,” you said. “If you’re not an avid circus-goer, then that’s the only other option I can come up with.”

“That’s another thing! I’ve never heard of circus performers speaking so fancily,” he said.

“You said it yourself that you haven’t visited any circuses on your trip, so how would you know?” you said. “It’s a shame that you have these stereotypes in your head. You should do some introspection about where they originate from.”

“What — no, I’m not — that’s not what I meant! There’s just something about you that I’m this close to figuring out!” he said, holding up his thumb and pointer finger, pressing them together for effect.

“You’re not getting paid for it, so why waste the effort?” you said.

“I’m just a curious — duck!” he said.

“Duck? Do you mean a turtleduck? That’s an interesting way to describe yourself — oh!” you said as he pulled you to the ground and out of the way of an incoming boulder.

“Whose bad side did you get on, huh?” Sokka said, motioning for you to run along with him. It was nothing like when you and the Blue Spirit had fled from the assassin’s previous attack; you didn’t have that implicit trust in Sokka to protect you, and for his part, Sokka was just as panicked as you were, so all told it was a much less graceful exit as you charged through the streets of the Upper Ring.

“A bunch of assassins!” you said. “They’ve been chasing me on and off for weeks now.”

“Assassins?” Sokka wheezed out as you increased your pace. “Just what kind of acrobat were you?���

“One that made a lot of enemies — look out!” you said, jumping into the air to avoid the stone gloves that reached for your ankles. Missing their target, they slammed into the wall and burst into smithereens.

“We’re almost at our guest house!” Sokka said. “The others should be able to help us if we haven’t lost these freaks by then. We just have to reach there before getting, y’know, crushed!”

“That’d be ideal!” you said, covering your head with your hands as you rounded a corner. Sokka kicked the door to a luxurious villa down, shoving you in and then slamming it shut behind him, pressing his back to it as the three occupants of the home gave you both alarmed looks.

“Assassins — rocks — cartwheel instructor!” Sokka said, heaving for breath and pointing at you. You waved at the trio, who must’ve been the friends that Sokka was visiting Ba Sing Se with.

One was a beautiful girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to Sokka — indubitably, this was his sister, though unlike Sokka, her eyes swirled with something lively and unsettled, as if they were twin seas set in her sweet face. Beside her was another girl, this one with fine features like a lady but a rough aura like a wrestler, and on her right was a boy with the blue arrows of an Airbending master running along his body.

“You’re going to have to repeat that,” Sokka’s sister said. “What’s going on? Who is this?”

“My cartwheeling instructor,” Sokka said.

“In a manner of speaking,” you said. “I didn’t really teach him much.”

“You know how to cartwheel? I love cartwheeling!” the Airbender said.

“Why didn’t Sokka ask you to teach him, then?” you said. The boy shrugged.

“Dunno,” he said.

“We were in the middle of a lesson—” Sokka began.

“As I recall, we were about to part ways,” you interrupted. Sokka shushed you impatiently.

“Like I was saying, we were in the middle of a lesson when, out of nowhere, pow! There was a boulder flying at our heads, and then boom! We almost died from it!” he said. You decided to just be quiet and let him tell the story; he had a flair for dramatics that you could not hope to match.

“What? Why?” his sister said.

“No idea! She said that she’s been being chased by those assassins for a while now!” Sokka said.

“Did you bring a criminal into our house?” his sister said, arching a brow at you. “Are you a criminal?”

“Not as far as I know,” you said. “I suppose I’m not really meant to be out here, but it’s not against any significant law for me to be. It’s just a family rule I’ve broken.”

“You said that they’re assassins?” the younger of the two girls said. “There’s no way. I didn’t sense anyone coming near us except for you two and some of the Dai Li agents.”

“They must be super sneaky!” Sokka said. “Right, Y/N?”

“Hm, it might be,” you said, lost in thought at this suggestion. Though you had no idea what she meant when she said she had sensed the Dai Li’s presence, you also had no reason to think that the girl was lying. There were two things that that could mean if what she said was correct, and neither of them were options you wanted to be true.

“Sokka,” his sister said. It was then that you realized that she, the Airbender, and the other girl were staring at you. “What did you just call your new friend?”

“You’re right! I can’t believe I forgot to do introductions! Y/N, this is Aang, Toph, and my sister Katara. Everyone, this is Y/N,” Sokka said, pointing at everyone as he said their names.

“Hello,” you said. “It’s lovely to meet you all.”

“Sokka!” Katara said. “You dumb, idiotic genius! We’ve been trying to talk to the king for ages, and you just happened to meet his sister while out and about!”

“That’s where I knew your name from!” Sokka said. “Princess Y/N, duh. Wait! You’re Princess Y/N!”

“Um,” you said, swearing internally at the fact that you had not thought to come up with a new name to go along with your alter ego as an acrobat. “No, I’m not.”

“She’s lying,” Toph said. “I have seismic sense, so you can forget about trying to make things up, princess. I’ll be able to tell in an instant.”

“You don’t know how good it is to meet you!” Aang said. “We’ve been trying to talk to your brother for a while now, but it’s not been going well.”

“Why would you want to talk to Kuei?” you said before you could stop yourself, rolling your eyes at the mere thought of anyone actually desiring to speak with him. “He’s not the most stimulating conversationalist.”

“You’re Princess Y/N!” Sokka said again. “You’re the princess of the Earth Kingdom, and I made you wear my clothes and do cartwheels!”

“When you put it like that, it does sound like a grave offense,” you said. “Shall I have you executed for it?”

“No!” he said, falling to his knees and bowing. “Oh esteemed, valued, generous, kind, benevolent princess, please spare my life! Please please please please please please—”

“I was only joking,” you informed him.

“We have to speak to the Earth King,” Aang said. “Do you think you could get us an audience? It’s urgent. If it helps, tell him the Avatar is the one making the request.”

“You’re the Avatar?” you said. Aang nodded at you, his expression grave and at odds with his youthful countenance. “For some reason, I thought you’d be older.”

“He’s technically 112 years old,” Sokka piped up from where he was now supine on the floor by your feet. “So there’s that.”

“I see,” you said. “You look good for your age, then. My apologies for making assumptions.”

“It’s complicated,” Aang said. “Do you think you can help us, though?”

“We’re kind of at our wits’ ends,” Katara added.

“Those Earth Palace dolts are the next level of stupid,” Toph said. “It’s all a bunch of bureaucracy and rules. Blech.”

“I can’t guarantee it,” you said. “I’m sorry. I’m not even allowed to be here right now. You see, I’m forbidden to leave my chambers. It’s only through the power of a spirit named Quynh that I may enter and exit without detection — though, I’m beginning to doubt how true that part is, but that’s an issue for me to work through on my own time. I’ll do my best to help you all while I’m at it, but for the most part, my hands are tied.”

“Okay,” Katara said when it became obvious that the others were too disappointed to come up with a response. “There’s nothing more we can ask of you. Just — it’s really urgent. You have to mean it when you say you’ll do your best.”

“I do mean it,” you said. “But in case, is there any other message you’d like me to pass along?”

“There is a war,” Aang said. “He has to ignore everything that he’s been told and realize that. There’s a war going on, and without his support, we’re going to lose it.”

A war. Of course. It made so much sense. The refugees. The injuries. The state of Ba Sing Se. It all pointed towards a distant yet rapidly encroaching conflict. That was the problem. That was what you needed to understand, or at least begin with understanding — there were other things that the Avatar and his friends had accidentally or purposefully revealed, smaller details that you would pick at and dissect until their natural conclusions, but this was the main point.

Not yet, though. These were things best done in the harsh, inescapable brightness of day, and tonight’s twilight was already waning. Soon, it would be time for the daily lighting of the Firelight Fountain’s lanterns, and there was something else you wanted to do before that.

Blending into crowds when you could, creeping past checkpoints and keeping your head lowered to avoid detection, you snuck into the Lower Ring, making your way towards a certain place, Quynh’s words coming to mind all of a sudden.

He would be starting his evening shift soon. You could picture him putting his apron on, rolling up his sleeves and complaining to his uncle about how much he hated his job and how they deserved to be somewhere else — the circus, perhaps? You weren’t sure, for he never really elaborated, but that was because the alternative location was not as important as the dissatisfaction he felt.

Despite your best efforts to quash it for fear of looking like a fool — what normal person was so excited by the prospect of apologizing to the dourest boy born to humanity? — a smile formed on your face as you began to walk faster, towards the tea shop where you knew Lee would be waiting.

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda @ioonatv

#zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #canon au #the glass princess #m1ckeyb3rry writes

[fluentmoviequoter]

Family Name

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader (reader was in the Army and SWAT in Central City)

Summary: After ten years away, you return to Gotham. When you discover you know the true identity of the Joker, you join Batman's fight to save Gotham.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vague references to several DC Comics movies and timelines, murder (I can't get too specific about the murder warning without spoiling a plot point, but there is a friendly fire aspect and an assassination by a sniper)

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce Wayne (or at least posting it lol) so he may be OOC. I actually wrote most of this a year ago and just put the finishing touches on it, so I'm not sure if it's worth reading. Feel free to let me know what you think and send any Bruce Wayne requests you have so I can keep practicing for him! (If you want a specific characterization/actor let me know.)

The map that I used as a reference while writing is included at the end!

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Gotham is still cold, wet, and smelly. Some things never change, no matter how hard a certain vigilante tries. It’s been nearly ten years since you last set foot in Gotham, and things have changed. For better or worse? Who can tell?

It is raining as you walk out of the train station on the outer border of Gotham City. You shiver and pull your jacket closer to your body as the cold drizzle starkly contrasts the sunny Central City you came from. You hail a cab and tell the driver the address of your temporary apartment. The news station on the radio catches your attention, and the driver turns it up when you ask.

“After a fearsome showdown last night with the Joker, who is still missing from Arkham Asylum, the Batman has been spotted in downtown Gotham. The GCPD is on high alert following several tips of illegal business at the Iceberg Lounge,” they report.

“You new in town?” the driver asks.

“Not exactly. I haven’t been here in years though,” you explain.

“Then you’re new. This is a whole new Gotham. Just stay on the good side of the Batman and you’ll be fine, kid. This is you.”

After paying the driver and pulling your bags from the trunk, you stand on the sidewalk and look up at the place you now call home. The apartment building is old but in decent condition. Especially considering where it is. As the rain grows heavier, you move inside, climbing the stairs to the third floor and entering your apartment. The unit came furnished, so you only have some clothing to unpack. You start a list of the housewares and cleaning supplies you’ll need to buy. Walking around the living room, you notice the cable is hooked up and turn on the television. The local television channels are either out because of the rain or playing broadcasts of last night’s story. Any background noise will do, you suppose, as you leave a news channel on and begin unpacking and cleaning with what little bit of supplies you have.

After cleaning, you take a break and fall back onto the couch. The news is still on, and a face flashes across the scene, filling you with an odd sense of recognition. You lean forward to get a better view before exclaiming, “No way.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“When did you come back?” someone asks as you enter a small department store.

Looking up, you smile when you see a familiar face. “Barbara, hey! Last night. Been in Central City for too long.”

“Should have stayed there,” she says, laughing humorlessly. “Gotham is quite literally the most crime ridden city in the world now. It’s on the sign and everything. At least in Central you have a vigilante to protect you.”

“So does Gotham,” you point out. “He’s all over the news.”

“Yeah, we do. But for every criminal he puts in Arkham, ten more pop up.”

“Is your dad still a cop?”

“He’s the commissioner now. Actually…” She pulls a card out of her wallet and hands it to you. “Call him if you ever get in trouble. Be careful, okay? This isn’t the Gotham you remember.”

“I will. Thanks.”

You watch her leave before you begin shopping for the items on your list. After shopping, you are back in your apartment, cleaning and organizing. The Gotham News has more showtime than Hannah Montana in the 2000s. You find yourself invested in every story they present. Maybe this isn’t the Gotham you remember, but it is still Gotham and your home. If this city needs help, you'll offer everything you have.

“Citizens of Gotham, I am Police Commissioner James Gordon. Regarding the recent red alert at Arkham Asylum, the GCPD is urging residents to stay indoors, lock doors and windows, and most importantly, stay calm. We are not sure at this time how many, if any, patients escaped the asylum. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact crime stoppers at 800-”

You mute the television and look at your closet. An armour-plated uniform hangs front and centre, practically begging you to put it on and fight for your home. If Barbara doesn’t think Batman can handle all the criminals, maybe he would appreciate a little help.

“Don’t be stupid,” you chastise yourself, still looking at the closet. A few minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of the closet, thinking, “But you have the training.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Gotham looks much darker from a rooftop. You find a lookout spot a few blocks from Arkham, assuming anyone who escaped will have to pass you eventually.

“Oh, sweet Gotham! Riddle me this!” a high-pitched voice calls. A moment later, you see a man dressed in a green suit entering the alley below you.

“Now or never,” you whisper as you move toward the edge.

“The more of it there is, the less of all you see. What is it?” Riddler asks.

“Darkness,” you answer as you grab his shoulders.

You pull him backwards and knock him to the ground. His breath rushes out at the impact, and you bring your elbow down to his face, rendering him unconscious before he can catch his breath. The burner phone you bought earlier is programmed with James Gordon’s number in it.

“Gordon,” he answers.

“Riddler is unconscious in the alley at Tomlinson and Pygall,” you say lowly, hoping your voice is disguised enough, before hanging up.

Your attention is ripped away from the unconscious criminal as a silhouette of a bat floats across the sky.

“There’s hope yet, Gotham,” you say, smiling.

✯✯✯✯✯

It seems as though you are better at vigilantism than you expected. Everywhere you go, Batman is either already there or crosses your path. He has yet to see you, that much is sure. Lurking on a dark rooftop, you hear the telltale sign of his grappling hook and are a second too late in realizing he is moving onto the same roof as you.

“So, you’re the one who’s been stealing half my jobs?” he asks, walking toward you.

“You seem busy, thought you might like some help,” you respond, shrugging as you change your voice again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought. But you need to go home. This is dangerous and you could get hurt.”

You internally roll your eyes at his obvious arguments. “So could you.”

“Doesn’t matter if I get hurt.”

“Me neither. Any idea how many more of them are out there?”

Batman sighs and turns away from you to look over the city. “One or two,” he answers. “The city got lucky; Joker was in solitary and didn’t get out.”

You nod to yourself, moving toward the edge as you ask, “Why does it seem so easy to escape Arkham?”

“Poor security, not enough staff, an old building. The list is endless. Every time someone tries to strengthen it, a stronger foe comes along and breaks it again.”

You’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Yet nothing’s changed.”

A sound behind you stops your answer. Turning toward the sound, you launch yourself onto the fire escape, ignoring Batman’s pleas to stop. 

“Whoa,” you breathe, looking at the plants growing in the alley. 

“You’re not the Bat,” Poison Ivy, whose news special aired last night, says. “You’d look much better in green than him.”

“Every plant I’ve ever owned has died. It’s one of my talents,” you taunt before throwing a canister from your belt. 

“It won’t work, Buttercup. I’ve been tear gassed many times.”

“It’s not just tear gas,” you call as the plants begin to wither. “It’s concentrated sulfur dioxide. Deadly to plants and debilitating to people.”

She coughs several times before falling. An arm wraps around your waist, and you are hoisted through the air before landing on a rooftop. 

“What was that?!” Batman demands.

“Sulfur dioxide.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You can’t just run around taunting criminals in a mask. What if that hadn’t worked and she had hurt you?”

“She didn’t. Besides-“

“No! You don’t get to justify this.” He keeps talking, and you feel like you have heard him before. You watch him closely as he continues berating you. 

“This is not a game. Do you understand that?” Bingo. You smile at him, his chest heaving as he prepares to yell at you again.

“You’re still really protective,” you say lightly. 

Batman turns toward you quickly, shaking his head before asking, “What?”

“In middle school you wouldn’t let me jump from the top of the swing set. Just funny that you’re still so protective when you risk your life every single night.”

“What are you talking about?”

You move toward the edge of the building and look over your shoulder at him. 

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

Batman runs to the edge after you jump, but the alley is empty. 

“Alfred,” he calls into his earpiece. 

“You’ll figure it out, sir. Eventually.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” Batman asks as he walks up behind you. 

“No. You told me I couldn’t run around taunting criminals in a mask. Which, by the way, I have some questions about. Can I walk and taunt criminals in a mask or is it the taunting that’s the problem?” you tease, looking up at him from your crouched position. 

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “I’ll give you a pass for the other night, but you need to go home. Right now. I’m not letting you get hurt for this.”

“Then don’t. Watch my back and I’ll watch yours.” You extend your hand for a handshake as you stand. 

“No deal. Go home.”

“I’m not going home. So, stay with me and we can help each other or I’m going to go hunt him down on my own.”

He narrows his eyes at you before sighing and shaking your hand. 

“Why are you smiling?” he asks as he releases your hand. 

“We always were a pretty good team.”

You see the moment of recognition as his jaw drops under the cowl. He recovers quickly and points at you. 

“Ground rules. Number one: you don’t engage. Two: stay hidden. Three: run if things go south.”

“Got it. Be boring,” you relay. 

“This is not the time for jokes. Our lives are on the line. You don’t even have a good reason to be here.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Please enlighten me,” Batman prods impatiently. 

You can tell he is mad you were here and are not listening to him. Too bad, Bats, you think. Gotham is your home, too, and you aren’t going to let it fall into the hands of some crazy clown or any other criminal. 

“But before you tell me that, tell me what makes you qualified to be out here.”

“Look at me. Armoured uniform, tear gas, I’m a CCPD jacket short of official.”

“You’re CCPD?”

“I was. SWAT officer for five years after I got out of the Army. But I grew up here and I’m not letting this city go without a fight.”

“Why this fight? The one criminal we haven’t been able to stop for almost a decade?”

“Because...” You look up at him and smile. “I know who he is.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Thank you, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon says, shaking Batman’s hand. “We’ll get him in solitary.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Batman replies. 

“Who’s your new helper? Everyone at the station is talking about the reaper that popped up and knows how to take them all down.”

“An old friend. Try to keep them in a while longer this time, will you?”

Commissioner Gordon turns around to see Batman is gone. “We’ll try,” he mumbles into the dark. 

✯✯✯✯✯

The next night, Batman is gone. You don’t so much as see his shadow all night. There is only one criminal out; maybe they’re all on vacation, too. Killer Croc used Arkham’s sewer system to escape and pop up downtown. It was a long and tiresome fight, but you got him on the ground, and the GCPD took it from there. You finally reach the rooftop, preparing to cross them to go home, but don't make it far. Hitting the roof, you feel pain shoot through your ribs. After running your hand across the area, your skin is stained red. Great, you think. 

“What were you thinking?!” Batman reprimands you as he appears and kneels beside you, pulling items from his utility belt. 

“Mostly about what I was going to eat for dinner,” you joke, hissing when the antiseptic hits your skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Batman says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy. At least it wasn’t my neck this time.”

“I told you not to use your belt to traverse the jungle gym,” Batman mumbles. 

“So, you do remember me,” you say happily.

“You’re still an idiot with a death wish.”

“And you’re still Mother Hen Bruce.”

“This’ll help for now,” he says, helping you stand up and hooking his arm under your shoulders. “But I’m taking you back to the cave to get you checked out.”

“Didn’t do enough checking out in high school?” you slur before passing out.

“Alfred, we’re inbound,” he says into his microphone. 

“Glad to see blood loss doesn’t dampen her sarcasm,” Alfred responds, “I’ll be ready.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What did you mean you know who he is?” Bruce asks. 

You blink several times to make sure you aren’t imagining him. He looks different than the last time you saw him. Without the mask, he’s more like the Bruce you grew up with, just older and barely holding Gotham together.

“You got hot,” you say without thinking. 

“Thanks. Now tell me what you meant.”

“That I know who he is?” you clarify, standing up. 

“Please stay down,” Alfred chides as he returns with tea. 

“Thanks, Alfred. Good to see you again.” You smile as you accept the tea. 

“You as well. Now take it easy. You should be battle ready in a day or two but that’s only if you rest properly.”

“No, you will not be battle ready. There is no more battle for you,” Bruce adds. 

“You know I’m not going to listen and if you tell me no I’ll just do it myself.”

“We’ll have this conversation later. For now, tell me what you know about Joker.”

“Okay. He’s my uncle. Like twice removed, or-“

“There’s no way you’re related to that monster,” Bruce interjects. 

“I’m not, really. We’re related by marriage. His aunt or somebody else married my cousin and I happened to meet him a few times. Fate, I guess.”

“Do you know his name?” 

“No. Everyone in the family called him J. I thought his name started with a J but see now that it’s because he’s cuckoo for cocoa puffs.”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head before turning serious again. “Are you really okay?”

“I’m great. Thanks for the assist.”

“I’m glad you’re back. Even if you are endangering yourself and ignoring everything I say.”

“Me too.”

“But Alfred’s right. You need some rest. We can finish this conversation later.”

“I can go home,” you say, standing up.

You stumble slightly, and Bruce catches you, holding you upright against him. 

“Can you?” he asks, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“I think I found something,” you cheer when Bruce answers the phone. 

“Where are you?”

“My apartment. It’s by Sacred Heart.”

The line goes silent, so you say Bruce’s name. 

“You’re living by the Narrows? I thought you just went out there to fight.”

“It’s a fine building. I’m not in the Narrows.”

“No but you’re between Crime Alley and Arkham Island. You need to find a new place. Now.”

“I can’t afford anything else, Bruce. It was this or Slaughter Swamp.”

“Pack your essentials. I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hangs up, leaving you with a dozen questions. However, you know he means what he says, so you pack the stuff you can’t live without and are ready to go when he shows up twenty minutes later. 

“You’re staying at Wayne Manor until we find you a new place.”

“That is not necessary.”

“It’s not just that this is close to the Narrows. We’re going after Joker, and I need to know you’re safe.”

“We’re not going after Joker,” you correct, “we’re finishing this.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bruce, I can’t find a marriage certificate. They may not have been married; maybe they were just living together or something and didn’t want to explain it to a kid,” you admit, disappointed in your lack of findings. 

“It’s okay. We will find something. And if we don’t, we can do it another way,” he assures. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“This is the fourth Arkham breakout in as many weeks. When do you sleep?” you ask. 

Alfred laughs faintly through the communications system. 

“During Wayne Enterprises meetings, usually,” Bruce answers. 

“I got one. Going dark,” you alert before jumping to meet Captain Boomerang. 

After a short fight which results in your earpiece breaking, Captain Boomerang is unconscious, and you prepare to call Gordon. 

“Ha ha ha ha,” an eerie voice cackles behind you. 

You freeze in place before turning slowly and coming face-to-face with the Joker. He knocks your helmet off in one swift move, and your face is now visible. 

“I remember you. My aunt married your second cousin. Horrible family you have. Or should I say had? Ha ha ha ha.”

“What do you want?”

“Is a family reunion not enough? No, I guess you’re right. I mean, marriages end so are we even related anymore?”

“We never were.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Reaper! You know everyone calls you that, don’t ya? Personally, I think it’s a bit morbid but to each their own. I also heard from a little bird that you’re working with the big, bad bat. I had such great hopes for you, and you let me down.”

“What do you want?” you repeat slowly. 

“To be family again,” he answers, smiling as he runs his fingers over your face and hair. 

“What about Harley? Isn’t she your family? You were all she could talk about the other night.”

“Not anymore. She settled for some used piece on her Suicide Suckers. But me and you? Me and you could be the dream team. The family to end all families.”

“I don’t want to be part of your family.”

“When I found out Harley was a harlot, you know what I said? I said I’d peel off her skin and put it on a new body. But I can’t imagine those words coming from her. So, from now on…” he moves his hand to rest in front of your throat as his smile drops. “If Harley wouldn’t say it, you don’t say it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Alfred, where is she?” Bruce asks.

“Toxic Acres. She’s still not responding,” Alfred responds, watching your tracker blink in the same place for the fifth consecutive minute.

“I’m going after her,” Bruce declares.

“Be careful, Master Bruce.” Bruce doesn’t respond, and Alfred mutes the private connection as he watches Bruce’s tracker move toward yours. “And don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re making a mistake, J,” you hiss, the pressure of Joker’s hand on your throat making it hard, but not impossible, to breathe.

“No, they made a mistake,” he argues, moving his hand slightly as he steps back to look at you.

“Who?”

“Your family. All families. Everyone who treats people like outsiders.”

“You mean to tell me you’re doing this - all of this - because you never felt like you belonged in a family?”

“No!” Joker yells, leaning his weight against your throat as he smiles in your face. “Because no family has ever accepted me. I know I don’t belong, but everyone expects families to lie, right? Especially their own, but no, poor Joker always got told the truth! ‘You’re too strange,’ ‘You’re dangerous,’ ‘The kids are scared of you,’ yet no one ever offered to help me fit in.”

You raise your hands to his arm and claw at his skin, growing desperate for air as he rants. He looks over when your hits grow weaker and pulls his hand back. You fall to the ground, wheezing, as you try to take deep breaths. 

Holding your neck, you look up at him and ask, “Then what do you want?”

He kneels in front of you and holds a knife out in his hand. “I want you to find a family and make a Joker-sized hole for me to fill.”

Shaking your head, you argue, “I’m not like you. I won’t do that, J.”

He cocks his head as his smile falls. “Harley wouldn’t say that, would she? And, besides, you’re more like me than you think, aren’t you? And what’s more interesting is that I think you know it. We’re the same, you and I, whether you like it or not.” The knife is raised to your throat as he threatens, “Do it, or I will make another hole in your family.”

“Another?” you ask.

The blade presses against your skin, and you close your eyes, unwilling to give him the theatrics and attention he so desperately seeks. A grappling hook sounds somewhere above you just before the blade is removed from your throat. Joker’s words echo in your head, and your eyes stay closed. Someone gently touches your neck and your face, but you don’t open your eyes, in case it’s him trying to trick you. He does that; you remember that too well.

An arm loops around your waist as a hand pulls your arms over broad shoulders. Only when you’re flying through the air and clinging to him are you ready to admit that Bruce is saving you. Opening your eyes, you see Wayne Tower in the distance. You tighten your arms around Bruce’s neck, and his hand squeezes your waist in response. He lands on the roof of Wayne Manor and rushes into the Batcave.

“What did he do to you?” Bruce asks as he sets you on a medical exam table. The same table you sat on when he saved you after the fight with Killer Croc.

Bruce tries to step back, but you cling to him. He’s the only family you have left, and Joker opened an old wound with his talk of carving a hole in a family to fill himself. That’s what he tried to do with your family, but when he still didn’t fit, he kept carving.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper into Bruce’s suit.

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, pulling you to the edge of the table as he cups your head to his shoulder.

“I’m right here,” he soothes. “Not going anywhere.”

He holds you for longer than you realize; time slows down in Bruce’s arms. When you pull back, he cups your face in his hands and looks at you intently.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not right now,” you whisper.

“That’s okay,” he promises, nodding.

“The guest bedroom has been prepared and dinner is awaiting you, Master Bruce,” Alfred calls, briefly appearing in the doorway of the Batcave.

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” you ask.

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready. And you’re staying here tonight.”

You don’t argue, nodding as you stand and follow Bruce upstairs. He shows you to a guest room with clothes, toiletries, and more books than you can count. Telling you to use whatever you want; he leaves to change before meeting you for dinner.

When you enter the bathroom to change into the clothes you found in the closet, you see yourself in the mirror. Mostly, you see the red line running across your neck. Joker has hurt more than enough people, you decide, and you meant what you told Bruce; you plan to finish this.

✯✯✯✯✯

Bruce sits up suddenly. The sun is coming through the cracks in his curtains, but something feels off. He pulls a shirt over his head and walks down the hall, knocking on the door to the guest room where you’re staying. After a moment of no answer, he lets himself in. There’s a note on the bed in your handwriting.

I can’t let him do it again, especially not to you. Please stay home tonight and let me finish this fight. I should have done it ten years ago, but I was scared and ran. This is my chance to make everything right. Please forgive me.

Bruce takes a deep breath, suppressing his urge to punch a hole in the wall. Alfred wouldn’t appreciate another one. He rereads the note, then goes downstairs for breakfast like everything is fine.

“Where is our guest?” Alfred asks when Bruce enters the dining room. “Resting, I hope.”

“She’s gone. She left in the middle of the night to, quote, finish a fight like she should have done ten years ago.”

Alfred’s eyes widen as he stops moving trays onto the table. “You’re going after her, then?”

“No, Alfred, I am not.”

Bruce picks up the paper, as nonchalant as ever, and more convincing than when he turns on his Brucie Wayne charm.

“Why ever not, sir?”

“She asked me not to. And after her reaction to me last night, I’m inclined to listen to her.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Bruce drops the paper and looks at Alfred. “I am going to do exactly what she said.” When the paper covers his face again, he adds, “For a while.”

“Good man,” Alfred mutters, returning to serving breakfast.

✯✯✯✯✯

Realistically, you know that breaking into Arkham and executing a patient isn’t the best idea, but it would solve the problem. However, there’s the downside of life in prison for first-degree murder that you’d have to contend with. Bruce would surely visit you, but you don’t want to lose him before you get him back.

Perched on a rooftop, you watch Arkham and hope your trap is being laid as planned. The security lights blink on seconds before the alarm sounds. If Arkham Asylum is good for anything, it’s the consistency of frequent breakouts. No matter who breaks out tonight, you’re prepared. All you have to do is convince them to lay a trap for Joker, convincing him that you killed someone, and then you can pounce. Watching the alley below you, you furrow your brows as you lean forward.

“Catwoman?” you ask incredulously.

She looks up, tilting her head at the sight of you. “Reaper?” she asks, sounding far too excited.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Thieving, I presume?” She nods, and you lower yourself onto a fire escape before jumping to meet her. “There’s nothing here worth stealing.”

“Maybe.”

You clench your hands into fists and look down the alley.

“I think the better question is what are you doing here, Reaper? I’m not exactly in your demographic.”

Under your mask, you press your lips together and consider confiding in her. She cares about Batman as far as you can tell, so if you tell her Joker is planning to kill him (though, in reality, Bruce is his likely target), she may be willing to help.

“Batman dump you? He does that,” Catwoman hums.

“What? No, no, we’re not together like that.”

“Yet,” Catwoman interjects.

“Look, Joker is going to try to kill someone that I love. He’s already ruined my family forever.”

“You just moved here, who could you possibly love here? I thought I fell fast.”

“I grew up here, and-“

Your mind races as you remember that you haven’t been seen with Bruce since returning, but Joker has been out since then. Pulling the earpiece from your pocket, you hope someone is in the Batcave.

“Hello?” you ask into it, desperate and terrified for your family. “Take whatever you want,” you tell Catwoman when you don’t get an answer, “heck, take something for me too. But if you see Batman, tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure.” You move toward the end of the alley before Catwoman asks, “What should we call you?”

Smiling, you answer, “Reaper is growing on me.”

“Good luck, Reaper.”

You could have taken a grappling hook before you left Wayne Manor last night, but you were more concerned with Bruce’s safety than yours. Getting off of Arkham Island and into Gotham Heights will take too long on foot.

“Batman?” you ask, trying the comm again. “Anybody?”

“You called?”

You slide to a stop, nearly falling over, when you see Batman perched on a roof, looming like a gargoyle. He spreads his cape as he moves to the road before you. Looking down at you, though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s trying to ensure you’re safe and unharmed.

“He’s going after Barbara. I thought he meant you, but he was out when I saw Barbara.”

“I’ll call Gordon. We need to get to Gotham Heights.”

“We’ll never make it in time. The alarm sounded twenty minutes ago.”

Bruce’s head turns toward you as he presses a button on his utility belt. The Batmobile turns a corner, coming to a stop beside you. Your eyes widen as the top opens, jumping in the passenger seat as you look at everything in awe.

“Barbara is stronger, and knows more than you think, but she can’t hold him off forever.”

You nod, prepared to do whatever you have to do. Even if it means making Bruce hate you.

“And I forgive you. Whatever you do, I understand,” Bruce says quietly. “Just- just remember that your actions affect more people than just you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s a trap. The driveway beside Barbara’s place is decorated like the cookout where you met Joker.

“Go check on Babs, I’m right behind you,” you tell Batman.

He hesitates, noticing exactly where your focus is, before tapping your shoulder and running toward Barbara’s door. When Batman is out of sight, Joker’s laugh surrounds you.

“Did you do it?” Joker asks, stepping out of the shadows.

“No.”

“Whyever not?” he asks with a laugh.

“Because I’m not a killer. We are not the same.”

“Come over here,” he demands. You listen despite your body’s urging to leave. “And give me a real reason,” he adds when you stop across a picnic table from him.

“That is the real answer. I will not do to another family what you did to mine. I’m not a killer.”

“Now, now, now, that’s not true.”

His eyes are fixed on your mask, likely imagining your furrowed brows and scared eyes. “Is the mask necessary, Reaper? We know one another. It’s just family here.”

You swallow as you rip the mask off, levelling your gaze on Joker, determined not to show him how affected he is.

“If you hurt her, I will end you.”

Joker flaps a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. I just needed a reason to celebrate, but you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not-“

“A killer, yes, so you say. However, there’s a family out there that begs to differ.”

You lick your lips, unsure how he knows this. The record was redacted and eventually destroyed, so no one outside of your team at the time should know.

Joker’s laugh draws your attention back to him. “You are a killer. Just like me.”

Shaking your head, you flinch when Joker slaps his hands onto the table, leaning forward to get closer to you. 

“Joseph,” Joker whispers, smiling widely at your surprised movement.

Someone screams in the distance, and you remember your promise: to protect your home, no matter the cost. Unholstering the gun you hadn’t carried in years, you hold it to Joker’s forehead.

“Do it,” he begs, leaning against the barrel. “Show them how alike we are.”

Your arm shakes as you fight to do it. With a finger on the trigger, Joker should be gone already, but you can’t do it.

Lowering the gun, you sigh, preparing for Joker’s next idea or a surprise dose of his laughing toxin. He watches you until he reaches for something. Before you can lunge forward to stop him, a shot rings out in the Gotham night. You hear it as Joker jerks to the side, slumping to the ground. Turning toward the right, you search the skyline for the shooter. You see a familiar salute and laugh to yourself as the silhouette disappears.

 “Reaper!” Batman yells, rushing toward you. He slows as he sees you standing over Joker.

There’s a note, half blown apart. He took credit. You laugh again, oblivious to Batman’s concerned gaze on the back of your head. The laughter quickly turns to hiccups as you fight to remain composed. You walked out of Wayne Manor prepared to assassinate Joker. Now that you have essentially been an accomplice to his death and reminded of your worst mistake, you’re falling apart.

Bruce whispers your name, a hand on your arm as he turns you away. He raises a hand to your jaw as the first tear rolls down your cheek.

“I killed him,” you admit.

“No, you didn’t. That shot was too far away, no one will blame you.”

“I killed Joseph,” you repeat. “I didn’t see him, and there was so much fog and- I shouldn’t have taken the shot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I left the Army and joined SWAT because I killed a civilian. I don’t know how Joker knew, but he was right. I am a killer.”

“Hey, hey.” When you don’t respond, Batman summons the Batmobile, whispering to Gordon on the phone as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Once you’re in Wayne Manor, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of Bruce’s shirts, he pulls you into his arms.

“You’re not like Joker, and you’re not a killer. Friendly fire is a terrible thing, but it’s not your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself for that. Saving people has its costs, and if I could take the guilt from you, I would.”

“I don’t even know how it happened,” you confess, “I dream about it all the time, but I don’t remember actually pulling the trigger.”

“You may never know. But either way, you can forgive yourself and move on.”

Wiping under your eyes, you lean against Bruce’s chest as you ask, “What did Gordon say? How’s Babs?””

“Their ballistics team is examining the velocity and angle to find where the shot came from. Barbara didn’t even know anything was happening, she’s fine.”

“The roof of Verdant in The Narrows,” you whisper, laying an open hand over Bruce’s heart.

“That’s too far for a shot like that.”

“Not for Army snipers.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Used to be,” you shrug before adding, “Lawton started killing for money, and I couldn’t support that.”

“Wait,” Bruce interjects, pushing you back slightly, ducking to look into your eyes. “You’re telling me that Deadshot just killed Joker? For free?”

“He doesn’t do anything for free,” you answer, smiling. “But I didn’t pay him if that’s what you think. Besides, he left a calling card of sorts.”

“Not at all. Batman will call Gordon tomorrow and let him know.”

“What’s Batman doing tonight?”

“He’s on vacation,” Bruce sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “And Bruce Wayne is catching up with an old friend.”

Smiling, you turn sideways to press your chest against Bruce, laying your arms over his shoulders.

“I think that sounds like a great night.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I found something,” Bruce says, removing his cowl as you enter the Batcave.

“A life?” you joke.

“Ha. No, I had a friend of mine go searching for that destroyed Army record.”

“Why?” you ask quietly, wringing your fingers together.

“Because you didn’t kill Joseph. Your gun never went off, and the shot came from a different direction with a much higher velocity. This looked like sniper.”

“You think it was Lawton?”

“Wouldn’t be surprising.” Bruce tilts your head toward him and looks you in the eye to add, “But the important thing is that you have no reason to keep carrying that burden.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Come on patrol with me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“You won’t. Not with me around.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Bats.”

“Catwoman,” Batman answers.

“Reaper was looking for you a few nights ago.”

“Yeah, we ran into each other. Thanks, though.”

“She said you weren’t together like we were, but I find that very hard to believe.”

“Give them back,” you say, surprising both Catwoman and Batman.

“Give what back?” she parrots.

You hold your hand out. “The pearl necklace and earrings you stole. They’re not worth anything to the woman, but they’re sentimental.”

Catwoman huffs, pulling a small bag from her pouch and tossing it to you. “I chose them for you anyway.”

“What?”

“You said to steal something for you too.”

“I thought my best friend was about to get murdered, I didn’t mean it!”

“And did you mean what you said about not being with Bats here?” She places a hand on her hip, and you take the opportunity to look at Batman before answering.

“He’s just not my type,” you answer, shrugging one shoulder.

You see his jaw twitch before he nods his farewell to Catwoman.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whisper as you walk past him. “And we’ve got a crocodile to catch.”

Batman sighs. “Welcome to Gotham.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Whose are they?” Bruce asks as you examine the pearl jewellery.

“Mine,” you answer, not looking at him. “What are the chances she’d use my permission to thieve to rob me?”

“Not bad with Sel- Catwoman.”

“Selina Kyle, yeah, I know.”

“Sentimental, huh?”

You turn toward Bruce, passing him the necklace.

“I told your mom that I liked her pearls, like five months before she was killed, and the next day she surprised me. She picked me up from school and told me we were going shopping. They’re the cheapest ones the store had, but I’ve loved them ever since because they came from someone I loved and… I guess they made me feel a bit more like her, and she was amazing.”

When you look back at Bruce, he’s still holding the necklace, but his gaze is on you. He sets the necklace down, stepping toward you. Gripping your waist, he pulls you against him with a wide smile.

“You’re amazing too.”

“Not like her.”

“There’s no one quite like her. But she loved you too, more than you know. Actually, she thought we were going to get married,” Bruce adds, nudging his nose against yours.

“I did too,” you whisper.

Bruce kisses you quickly, pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“Based on the newspapers, I thought you’d be better than that,” you tease.

Bruce clicks his tongue before pulling you into another kiss. While he takes your breath, he fills you with love and hope. His hands keep you as close as possible, one sliding up to hold your head as he deepens the kiss, whispering something against your lips.

“Wait,” you mumble, moving your hands from his jaw to his chest. “What did you say?”

Bruce smirks, the charm that no one gets to see any more on display. “That I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and you grip his shoulders as you rise to kiss him, informing him that you feel the same. “I love you more,” you say against his lips, melting into him as you become one.

“My mom would want you to have her pearls,” Bruce whispers, rubbing his thumb in large sweeping motions against your upper hip. “And she’d want us to see where this goes.”

“Your mom was very smart,” you muse, putty in Bruce’s hands as he moves to the couch, tugging you into his lap.

“Did you love my mom enough to take her last name eventually?”

“This is more important – I love you enough.”

“Finally!” Alfred exclaims as he walks in with a tray of tea and biscuits. “It is about time you officially join the family and take the name.”

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x reader #batman fic #bruce wayne fic #dc comics x reader

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween! Anything full metal alchemist?

Pretending to be a boy is the easy and obvious thing to do.

Mustang already thinks she is one - apparently the paperwork he'd found on her had only called her Ed and he'd decided that was short for Edward. It's not like there was anything feminine about her while she was lying in bed trying not to bleed to death.

The military might agree to take a twelve year old boy, but will never consider the same for a twelve year old girl. It's safer, too, for people not to know what she is.

"I don't like this, Sister," Al says as she transmutes a heavy coat to wear over her thick leather pants and chunky boots. She almost cuts her hair, but their father had long hair, and she's already lost two limbs. If her hair is what gives her away, then clearly she has bigger problems.

"Remember that it's Brother once we get on the train to central," she warns.

He can't make facial expressions anymore, but the mulishness to his silence is easy for her read. She's his big sister, after all. “It’s just until we get our bodies back, Al. It’s fine.”

“Won’t it bother you to be called a boy?” he asks. “It would bother me to be called a girl.”

Yes. “Not really. It’s just temporary, and you and Winry and Granny know. It’s fine.”

Eden isn’t looking forward to it, but her brother doesn’t have his body because of her. She has to fix this, and whatever it is she has to do in service of that is what she’ll do.

~

They get to Central and meet Mustang again and his office and Maes Hughes and his very nice wife and no one even bats an eyelash at calling her a boy, or when Al calls her Brother, or at referring to her as Edward. She can at least tell them she goes by Ed, which is true.

The physical that disqualified Al might be an issue except she’s twelve and they don’t ask her to take her boxers off. Standing there shirtless feels weird, even though her chest is completely flat, but they’re more interested in her automail than in questioning her gender.

She’s dubbed the Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, and the victory is bittersweet for more than one reason.

~

Sometimes, in the beginning, when they’re far from central she’ll take down her hair and transmute a dress and just go out and be a girl for a little bit. Soon, that becomes too risky, because she’s so well known, because Al makes her identity obvious.

Al stops calling her Sister except when they’re in a room alone and she tells herself it doesn’t bother her.

When she’s fourteen, the jokes about her voice not having dropped yet start at around the same time as she starts having to bind her chest to keep it looking flat. The baggy jacket worked for a while, but now she needs an extra step. She’s fifteen when she really starts to hate it, when her chest is large enough that flattening them constricts her movements and makes it so she can’t expand her lungs fully. It’s too much of liability. She wears a sports bra and gets a baggy tank top and saves the binding for when she has to report into Mustang.

Nearly three years of no one guessing anything and then they’re in Liore when Rose takes one look at her and says, “I thought the Fullmetal Alchemist was a boy?”

“I am a boy,” she says, but it comes out awkwardly, because she’s never had to say that before, never had to try and convince someone before. There’s a little spark of pleasure at Rose just looking at her and knowing, but it’s drowned out by the terror at the possibility of being found out.

Rose frowns, but then her face clears as an embarrassed flush rushes across her face. “Oh! I didn’t know that you were – uh, right. Sorry, I – yes, um, of course, you are definitely a boy. My apologies!”

Wait, that’s not what she – oh fuck, whatever. It amounts to the same thing, she supposes.

Then she’s too busy chasing after this fake priest and Rose is furious at her and Ed is pretty sure she’s going to get murdered by this whole town at one point, but it works out, more or less. The town is sort of a mess, but there’s no more fake priest offering false hope and false gods, so that has to be good, right?

Rose is tear stained and empty and she’d known that Ed was a girl. “Hey,” Ed says softly, “it’s going to be okay. You can rebuild.”

“Rebuild what?” she hiccups, trying to contain her sobs. “We’re in the middle of nowhere and no one cares about us and without those miracles, fake or not, people will be hungry!”

Fuck. This isn’t Ed’s problem. But she wants to help. She wants to help Rose, who’s nice, and pretty, and saw her. “What if there was a river around the city? Then you wouldn’t be in the middle of nowhere and you could grow something or catch fish, or whatever.”

“The river isn’t anywhere near here!” she shouts.

“It could be,” she says and now Rose is staring at her and Al is sighing.

She’s the Fullmetal Alchemist. What’s one river?

She and Al take the train to the nearest branch of the river, marking off what they’ll do on the map and debating circles and Al doesn’t say a word about this being a waste of time, but he wouldn’t. He’s usually the bleeding heart between them.

They buy two boats, split up to each take it to a bend in the river that almost no one uses, and get to work. It takes almost two weeks to push the new bit of the river near Liore and she meets Al in the middle, the two of them connecting the new river right outside of city gates.

They go back to Liore, to tell Rose and everyone else what they’ve done, and they find something they hadn’t expected.

That damn priest is back.

The ensuring fight nearly kills her and she was certain it actually would, but the strange creature literally slithers away from her rather than killing her. It at least proves to the people that that thing isn’t a prophet, although it does leave a large portion of the town destroyed.

They can rebuild closer to the river anyway.

Ed is broken and bruised and Rose is tending to her and she tries not to think how she’s going to write any of this up in a report.

“What’s the river called?” Rose asks as she checks on the stitches she’d made. She’s not as good as Winry, but she’s not bad either.

Ed bites her lip to distract herself from the pain of disinfectant on her wounds then says, “What? I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

“You made it,” she says stubbornly. “You should name it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she insists, wincing as Rose rubs some sort of salve into her many bruises, sliding her hand beneath her sports bra to get the one that’s all along her side and her ribs. She’s probably broken at least one. Then, without thinking, “Eden. Call it the Eden River.”

Someone should at least get to use her name if she can’t.

Rose pauses, staring at her, and Ed looks down rather than meeting her gaze. “Ed,” she says gently, “please don’t take this the wrong way, and I promise I won’t ask again, but – are you a boy?”

She should say yes. Even though Rose had guessed right the first time, she should say yes, and protect the same secret she’s been protecting for the past four years.

But it’s been a really long couple of weeks.

“I’m what I have to be,” she says, shrugging even though it hurts.

Rose smiles at her, warm and pretty and ugh, why does she have to be so pretty? This is so unfair. “In this room, all you have to be is yourself, Eden.”

She can’t help but return Rose’s smile. She hasn’t been able to be herself in a long time.

~

Ed is sixteen and has just received a summons from Mustang, who apparently hadn’t been satisfied with her initial report of Liore and had finally tracked her down after months of dodging him to demand she return to Central, which is annoying as shit. She’s finally found some books that even sort of explain what that creature in Liore was, and now he wants her to come back? What a waste of time.

“Um, Sister,” Al says and Ed automatically looks around, but they’re completely alone in this corner of the library, “do you think, now that you’re enlistment age, that you might tell them truth?”

She stares. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, we haven’t been back in a long time, and you look a lot – especially this past year, you know?” She continues staring, because she does not know. “Most people see what they expect to see, but you might have to – I don’t know, do something, if you don’t want them getting suspicious.”

“Why would they be suspicious?” she demands, baffled.

Al groans and throws up his hands. “Because you’re older and you look like a girl, Sister! You’re not a kid anymore, and they’ve known us for years, and they pay attention to stuff.”

This is a serious problem that she has to deal with.

Which she’ll do as soon as she can make herself stop smiling.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #fma #this got away from me #obviously #the joke is on eden because roy didn't believe a word of the report about the priest #and he's actually pissed at ed for the unauthorized terraforming

[callsignfate]

I need you to be okay

Day Fourteen of Writemas/Birthday posts!

If you want to see the scheduled posts go here If you want to see more posts like this go here

TW: Lecturing, mention of dangerous acts, mention of guns and military vehicles, mention and talk of military field work, If I've missed any let me know!

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡ This is stuck in my head. It's been stuck in my head. So now you all must have to read it. Reader is mentioned to be shorter than everyone and Laswell (I think)

(Soap finds out your married to Laswell might make a part two that he tells everyone)

You had joined TF141 for a temporary, unknown amount of time, often going by your callsign rather than anything else. Because they didn't dare ask your age, and you were slightly immature at times, they all called you different nicknames that had stuck with you.

A mission that was supposed to take no more than a day or two turned into almost a week. Everyone was excited to be back at the base. You could tell by the jokes and more revitalized tones that they were more than ready to shower and rest finally. You were excited, although for different reasons. You wanted nothing more than to see your wife.

"Shower and rest, Laswell wants a debrief in a few hours," Price said, grumbling about it under his breath about how he wanted a longer break for all of you and himself.

You nodded in response as the rest of them sighed and agreed with some small snide comments. You knew your wife well enough that she wanted to do it sooner; hell, she'd be there the second you stepped off the helicopter wanting a debrief if she wasn't trying to be even slightly nicer.

The hot shower and fresh, clean clothes felt like heaven. You finally got rid of the cold feeling that seemed stuck in your bones as you put on your favorite hoodie that you stole from Kate and headed out towards the meeting room. You could see Soap walking that way as well up the hall, also wearing more leisurely clothes.

It had been a few weeks since you had seen Kate. You could already hear her lecturing Price as you pulled open the door and looked to see almost everyone was here but Gaz. Kate's frustrated eyes flashed to yours as she raised her eyebrows with a pissed-off mom look she always gave you before she lectured you.

"And you, what in God's name do you think you were doing? We won't even talk about the reckless mistakes you made with them. I put you with them for a few months, and you begin to share their brain cells?" Kate's hands were moving frantically around as she spoke. She didn't often talk with her hands unless she was upset, and she was.

"I made the best decisions I could with the information and situation provided." You noticed that Kate took a lot of attitude back from the 141. She had vented to you about just how reckless they were, but you saw firsthand how tight of situations they get put in where they, and now you, had to make tough, probably reckless decisions to save their ass or get the job done.

"Don't talk to me that formally—I hate it, and you know it," Kate hissed out. In response, you laughed and sat down next to Soap, who looked bored and tired, although still happy and friendly as always.

You and Soap, while listening to Kate lecture Price, ended up spinning your chairs from side to side, quietly matching each other's movements with a stifled laugh every once in a while.

Gaz finally walked in. He sat near Ghost, who was silently watching it all unfold. Kate immediately went from lecturing Price to everyone as a group, sounding like a mother whose child had chased a ball into the street.

"Every one of you has a death wish or something? I leave for a few weeks, and suddenly the entire team decides to throw themselves into the line of fire like it's a bloody carnival game. I swear, Soap, you better stop making bets with Ghost on who can come closer to getting shot. And you," she pointed at Gaz, "I saw the report. You tried to take on a bloody tank with just a pistol!"

Gaz leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Well, Kate, you always said 'work smarter, not harder.' So, I thought, why not try it the other way around for a change?"

Kate's eyes narrowed, and you could practically see the storm clouds gathering. "This isn't a joke, Gaz. One of these days, your 'work harder' approach is going to get you killed."

Soap chimed in, "But we got the job done, Kate. That's what matters, right?"

"Getting the job done without getting yourselves killed or causing an international incident also matters," Kate retorted, crossing her arms.

You couldn't help but chuckle, earning a glare from Kate. "What's so funny?"

"Just missed your charming lectures, Kate. Reminds me that I'm home," you replied with a teasing smile.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, spare me. Anyway, debrief is over. Go get some rest, everyone, before you all end up in the hospital. And You, you stay."

As the door closed behind the last member leaving the room, you and Kate were left alone in the quiet aftermath of her scolding. The atmosphere shifted, becoming less official and more intimate. Kate sighed, her stern facade melting away as she ran a hand through her hair, a sign of her exasperation.

"You know," she began, her tone softer now, "I worry about all of you. This job... it takes a toll, and sometimes I feel like I'm herding a bunch of stubborn cats."

You chuckled again, standing up and walking over to where she was sitting. "Well, we're your stubborn cats, and you're the only one who can handle us."

She shot you a playful glare but couldn't hide the hint of a smile. "And what about you? Any reckless stunts I should know about? Or are you the one responsible adult in this operation?"

You leaned against the desk, meeting her gaze. "Oh, you know me, Kate. I'm the epitome of responsibility."

She snorted, playfully rolling her eyes. "Right. The 'responsible' one who used to climb out of bedroom windows just to avoid being caught sneaking in past curfew."

You smirked, recalling those rebellious teenage days. "Ah, those were the days. But seriously, I'm fine. No reckless stunts, promise."

She studied you for a moment, her expression shifting to something more thoughtful. "Good. Because... I need you to be okay. More than you probably realize."

Your teasing demeanor softened. You reached out, gently cupping her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere, Kate. You're stuck with me."

She leaned into your touch, closing her eyes briefly. "Good. Because I'd hate to have to chase you down and drag you back."

You chuckled, giving her cheek a light, affectionate tap. "Wouldn't want you to break a sweat, now, would we?"

She swatted your hand away with a mock scowl. "Go get some rest. We've got work to do, and I can't have you falling asleep in the middle of a mission."

With a final teasing grin, you left the room, leaving Kate to her paperwork and thoughts. The banter might be constant, but the unspoken understanding between you two was clear—you were her anchor in the storm, and she was yours. As you walked out, you saw Soap standing near the wall with a slightly shocked but sly smile. He held your favorite cap, the one you wore often. Before you could react, he reached into it and pulled out your name tag that read 'Laswell.' Your face paled as you realized Soap had overheard your discussion with your wife and discovered the name tag you had hidden in your cap.

Soap, holding the name tag between his fingers, raised an eyebrow with a mischievous grin. "Laswell, huh? So, our fearless leader has a soft spot for you. Never would've guessed."

Your face heated up, a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "Soap, don't you have better things to do than pry into other people's business?"

He chuckled, tossing the name tag back to you. "Hey, just having a bit of fun. But seriously, you and the boss? That's interesting."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Price owes me twenty bucks. Said he never believed the boss would get involved with someone on the team. Guess we both lost that bet." You sighed, realizing that your personal life had become a source of entertainment for your teammates. "If everyone finds out we're married I will shave off your mohawk in your sleep."

Soap raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful glint in his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll zip it. Your secret's safe with me. No need to resort to mohawk threats."

"Good," you replied, though the playful threat hung in the air. You headed to your quarters, thoughts swirling. It wasn't that you were ashamed of your relationship with Kate, but the nature of your work demanded a certain level of secrecy. The last thing you needed was the team treating every mission like some kind of love story drama.

After dealing with Soap, you decided to find Kate. She was now likely in her office, buried in paperwork. The familiar sound of helicopters and distant chatter filled the air as you navigated the base.

When you reached her office, Kate looked up from her desk, a rare smile gracing her lips. "Took you long enough."

"Debrief ran late," you joked, leaning against the doorframe.

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at what you were wearing finally. "Is that my hoodie?"

You smirked. "Maybe."

Kate chuckled, standing up and walking over to you. "You know, I missed you."

"I missed you too," you admitted, pulling her into a warm embrace.

♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡~♡

#kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #laswell #call of duty laswell #laswell cod #laswell mw2 #kate laswell x wife #farah karim x reader #cod laswell #kate laswell x you #kate laswell fluff

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

(Genshin Impact) Jean and a Knight Reader

Jean had known (Y/N) ever since she first joined the Knights of Favonius.

They had been side by side through it all, training with her, Kaeya, and Diluc, all the way to her promotion to Acting Grand Master.

They had been by her side through it all, and she couldn't have asked for any better.

(Y/N) felt the same about her, and it was clear by the way they spoke they respected each other a great deal.

Yet...it felt like they were holding back something.

...

(Paimon) "Holding back?"

(Lisa) "Mhm. Whenever it's just them two in a room, they get very quiet and stare at each other sometimes."

(Lumine) "Sounds like they may respect each other more than friends...Wait, how do you know what they're like when they're alone?"

(Amber) "Honestly? It's kinda easy to notice. They sometimes forget we're there with them."

(Kaeya) "My record of them glancing at each other has been seven times."

(Lisa) "Huh, mine's been six."

(Paimon) "Why do you think they haven't said anything?"

(Amber) "Probably because they respect each other that much. It'd be sorta awkward to say 'I love you' to your boss."

(Lumine) "I suppose that's true, but this is only temporary, right? (Y/N) and Jean are the same rank on paper, just Jean is taking control for the moment."

(Lisa) "Oh, I bet that's not the only thing she'll take contr-"

(Amber) AHEM! "But, yes, that's our observation on the two."

(Kaeya) "We've all taken bets on how long it'll take for them to actually say something."

...

(Y/N) constantly drops by to her office, first presenting a salute, then making sure she isn't overworking herself.

If getting Barbara doesn't get her to stop, then (Y/N) typically gets the job done.

In fact, (Y/N) is essentially seen as Jean's right hand, being sent out to do tasks that she'd do herself.

(Jean) "Good work as always, (Y/N). Thank you."

(Y/N) "Of course, Acting Grand-Master Jean."

(Jean) "Heh, you don't need to call me that."

(Y/N) "Sure thing, Acting Grand Master."

She chuckles at that, making (Y/N) smile.

Whenever she's having doubts about herself, (Y/N) is always there to pick her back up, and have her back.

Whenever (Y/N) is out fighting, Jean always comes in to make sure their flank is secured, and together dispatch any foe with blazing speeds.

Even Diluc has some modicum of respect for them, and is thankful they're keeping Jean kept straight instead of overworking herself to the bone.

And though the two obviously had mutual feelings, neither of them said anything.

They didn't dare speak up and potentially risk ruining their friendship. Not to mention, it'd be incredibly unprofessional as Knights of Favonius.

Though, not everyone shared that sentiment...

...

(Lumine) "Okay it's been five months now, how the heck have they not said anything yet?!"

(Diluc) "Five months? Try nine years."

(Paimon) "REALLY?!"

(Diluc) "Admittedly, it's become a bit comical of how long it's taking, but I'm not one to tell her how to feel. That's her business, not mine."

(Kaeya) "I think it's very much our business-"

(Diluc) "Stop talking."

(Lisa) "Surely it wouldn't hurt to speed up the romance just a little?"

(Amber) "You feel the same don't you, Master Diluc?"

(Diluc) "I will have no part of this. And respectfully, Lumine. Why did you bring everyone here?"

(Lumine) "Because they're too busy not falling in love back at HQ."

(Diluc) "Do the Knights seriously have nothing better to do?"

(Paimon) "I mean, there's also us watching you because you're super suspicious to the Knights-"

Lumine punched Paimon.

(Paimon) "I-I MEAAAN..."

(Kaeya) "Nice save as always, Honorary Knight."

(Diluc) sigh "Then just tell her what you think yourselves. No need for my input."

(Lisa) "Actually, there is. You've known them the longest, don't you think they'd be a good couple?"

(Diluc) "...Well, they wouldn't be a bad one, that's for sure."

(Jean) "A bad what?"

Everyone suddenly turned to the door of Angel's Share.

Jean and (Y/N) walked through the door.

(Y/N) "Why...is everyone here?"

(Diluc) "You can ask your Honorary Knight here."

Jean and (Y/N) turned to Lumine.

(Lumine) "We were just curious about you and (Y/N)."

(Jean) "We're close friends. Surely you must've known that already."

(Paimon) "Aaaaanything else?"

(Y/N) "...We're really close friends?"

Lumine, Paimon, and Amber facepalmed.

Lisa and Kaeya sighed.

Diluc also sighed, but not for the same reason as everyone else.

Jean and (Y/N) looked at each other extremely confused.

What the hell is everyone talking about?

#genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #jean gunnhildr x reader #jean gunnhildr #jean gunnhildr x y/n #jean gunnhildr x you #lisa minci #kaeya alberich #paimon #lumine #amber genshin impact #diluc ragnvindr

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] A Deal in Three Acts: Act II

Title: A Deal in Three Acts Summary: Weeks since Raphael took temporary residence at Sharess’ Caress, Haarlep is bored. Still waiting for Tav to take him up on his offer, Raphael is frustrated. Tav chooses an interesting evening to show up with a counter-offer. Characters: Raphael, Haarlep, Tav. Rating: Explicit Status: Complete

Act I here Also on AO3

*** Sometimes nice simple plans fall apart, but they can be salvaged with an incubus on your side. I think. ***

When Tav had left Elfsong Tavern to head for Sharess’ Caress, she had a plan. 

A nice, simple plan, as Astarion had called it after they’d spent hours going through every detail of their counter-offer to avoid every possible pitfall. Two centuries since he’d last donned a magistrate’s robes, he still had plenty of insight to give when it came to binding contracts.

“I think I would have hated dealing with magistrate Ancunín,” Tav had muttered. Sitting on the tavern’s terraced roof to bask in the rays of the dying sun, a leg dangling off into the air, Astarion had laughed. He laughed a lot more lately, and it was good to see. In the days after they’d cut down Cazador Szarr, he’d seemed to emptied out that everyone at camp had worried. Now, finally, it seemed to have truly hit him - that the monster who’d taken everything from him was gone, and could never hurt him again.

Tav hoped to feel like that, too, and soon.

“Oh, most people hated dealing with this menace,” Astarion had said, gesturing to himself. “And our friend Raphael will be none too pleased by our counter-offer, I bet, but you must not yield an inch. He’s desperate for that crown, and while we have a backup plan, he does not. Our little, shall we say, requests are just trivial matters to the bearer of the Crown of Karsus. He has nothing to lose and everything to gain by accepting.”

“I suppose the clause binding him to limit his rule to the Nine Hells of Baator may be the main stumbling block.”

“Ah, but he already said he’d do that, didn’t he? He cannot refuse to put it on paper without admitting he lied. Of course, we’ll need the entire contract in a language we understand . And a copy for ourselves. I really can’t believe so many people keep doing that. Signing contracts in some language they don’t know, without even their own copy. Wyll was incredibly lucky we found a way to break his contract and save his father.”

“Not everyone’s a magistrate, magistrate.”

“That’s bloody common sense, darling. Now, let’s go over this again, just to make sure you didn’t forget anything…”

They did, and she hadn’t. Tav left the tavern before the last rays of sun disappeared beyond buildings, taking care to speak with no one else. She knew all too well that most of her companions would disapprove, to say the least - Karlach and Gale most of all. But this was for their sake, too. 

If everything went as planned, if she could get Raphael to accept the counter-offer, they would both be free of the ticking time bombs in their chests. And of course, Tav would get a shot at seeing an Archdevil die. 

The Hells were the Hells; it did not matter to her what devil ruled supreme over it all. She’d gladly hand Raphael the crown and all her own magic on top of it, if it meant she could see Zariel dead and broken, a charred husk among ruins like… like…

“I’m not going to give you a lecture about revenge, because you deserve it as I deserved mine,” was the last thing Astarion had told her before she left. “But they’re dead and you’re alive. Take the blood you’re owed, but keep your life.”

“Is that a very long-winded way to tell me to be careful?”

“I say it a lot better than you do, my friend. If you’re not back by morning, I’ll come looking. You can be certain I will. But I’ll be cursing you the entire way there and back.”

Tav, who’d planned to be back long before morning, had nodded. A simple goal, a simple plan. Nothing was going to throw her off course; she told herself as much while going up the stairs, opening the door, and stepping in the room. 

Then-- well, for all her grim determination, the sight had sort of thrown her off. You can never be completely sure of what you’ll see when walking in on a devil, but Tav had no trouble admitting that ‘Raphael fucking himself in the most literal sense possible’ was not among the possible scenarios she’d thought up. She hadn’t meant to make noise, either, but she had and all things considered, it had been a blessing in disguise. 

Had the incubus not helpfully introduced themself to her, she might have assumed that the Bhaal cult’s shapeshifters were taking an entirely new approach since Orin’s demise, and she might have attacked. Needless to say, it would have made the situation quite awkward.

Well. More awkward.

“Why don’t you join us, little mouse? Get up close and discuss to your heart’s content. I won’t interrupt. I’ll just be doing my thing.”

“Haarlep--” Raphael tried to speak, his voice strained in a way Tav had never heard it, and even that attempt broke up into a groan when the incubus thrust upwards. It was, pun intended, one hell of a sight: Raphael’s naked body on the lap of an incubus who looked almost exactly like his cambion form, his thighs spread open and chest heaving with ragged breaths. 

And Tav she knew a chance when she saw it. She couldn’t have dreamed up an occasion like that, with Raphael that vulnerable, barely coherent . Plus, no matter what Astarion said - she was very much not made of wood. When she met his eyes, clouded with lust as they were, her next words came out in a husky murmur. “May I, Raphael?”

A wordless groan, all his eloquence gone, but it was the only answer she needed. His chest shuddered under her touch and oh, he was feverishly warm, skin glossy with sweat. Beneath her palm, his heart thumped wildly. Tav leaned in, and pressed her lips against his throat. She felt him swallow, and smiled. Her own breathing came a little faster, too. “Tell me what you want.”

“The crown--” he tried, only for an especially clever twist of Haarlep’s hips and to turn the words in a whine. The incubus caught Tav’s eye over his shoulder, and grinned. If they knew what she was trying to do, one thing was clear: they had no intention to stop her.

Good.

Tav pulled back, and tilted Raphael’s chin up. She ran her thumb across his lips, her other hand trailing down his chest, down his stomach, coming to rest on a trembling thigh. “Yes,” she said. “It would look good on you. I want to give you that crown. So you can see all the devils of Baator bowing to you - that’s what you really want, isn’t it?”

“I--” he groaned, dropping his head back against Haarlep’s shoulder at a well-timed tilt of their hips. His hands clenched on sheets. “Yes,” he breathed. There was something else to his shaky voice, a need, a hunger that could never be sated. It sent a shiver down Tav’s spine, more heat pooling in her loins. It was getting really, really warm in that armor. 

“You want to see them kneel, don’t you?” she whispered, and finally took his cock in her hand, her touch light, to trace a vein with a nail. “You want to see everyone kneel.”

Raphael’s hips shuddered, and he couldn’t bite back a cry. “Yes,” he managed, and Haarlep laughed. 

“Oh, this one,” they said, grinding up into Raphael. “I like her.”

Somehow, Raphael managed a scoff. “You like-- everyone, you insatiable--”

“That’s patently untrue, my pet. I don’t like you, for one.”

The response made Raphael scowl, and wrinkle his nose. He wrinkled his nose a lot when annoyed and it made it somewhat difficult to take him seriously, power of the Hells and all. Tav smiled, and leaned in, almost close enough to kiss him. She did not have Yurgir’s keen sense of smell, but there it was, just like he’d said - the scent of cherries and musk beneath the lingering sulfur. Her voice had always been a little too rough to sound truly sweet, but she did her best to soften it. “Do you want me to kneel for you, Raphael?”

He didn’t answer, not with words: he tried to lean forward instead, to catch her lips with his, to grab her and pull her closer. Tav was fast enough to pull back, though, and the incubus’ hands grasped Raphael’s wrists, snake-quick. Haarlep laughed at the frustrated noise that got out of him, and thrust upwards into him sharply, biting into his shoulder in the same motion.

“Behave, little brat,” they purred against his ear. “She asked you a question, it’s only polite to answer. With words. Do you want her to kneel for you?”

If Tav could bottle the moan that left Raphael then, and sell it, she’d be able to buy the Gate and everyone in it ten times over. Maybe there was a way to do that, really, but working it out would have to wait. Right now, she had a more urgent matter to take care of.

Well, two urgent matters. There was the contract, too. She probably shouldn’t forget that.

“What did you say, pet? I couldn’t hear a yes or a no.” The incubus grinned, delighted, and bit into his shoulder again. Raphael cried out, wordless, but he managed a nod and Tav supposed she could go with that. She placed a kiss on his shoulder, just below the bite mark, and knelt between his trembling thighs. Up close, she noticed the ring at the base of his cock for the first time. She tilted her head, running a finger down the length. 

Well, look at that. He wasn’t getting to come anytime soon with that thing on. 

“Believe me, you’d have missed all the fun if I hadn’t put that on,” Haarlep almost sing-sang, and let go of one of Raphael’s wrists to grab his face, forcing him to look down. Tav lifted her gaze to see his eyes on her, his lips parted and face flushed, Haarlep’s claws pressing mercilessly into his cheeks. The incubus in question smiled over his shoulder. 

“Do you know what he sees when he looks at you? He’ll never tell you, but he told me. I can make him tell me everything,” they cooed, and silenced Raphael’s attempt at a protest with two fingers in his mouth, pressing down his tongue. Raphael made an indignant noise, but his body remained flush against Haarlep’s chest, his eyes still fixed on Tav, wide and dark and hungry. “Can you guess?”

Great, so this was a guessing game now. Tav raised an eyebrow. “A rodent of small size?” she ventured.  The incubus’ smile widened.

“His kingdom, that’s what he sees. He looks at you, and he sees his crowning glory.”

Well, fuck. That sure did something to the pit of her stomach and a little below that too. Gods was it hot in there. “Ah,” Tav said, and her voice cracked just a touch, but she managed to catch herself. She had to keep some measure of control if she was to negotiate, because Raphael’s helpless state would do her no good if her brain also turned to mush. So she steadied herself, and locked eyes with him. 

She was beginning to feel decidedly overdressed, and her own face was burning, but she held his gaze as she took hold of his cock and leaned in to press her lips on the side of the shaft in a soft kiss. Raphael keened around Haarlep’s fingers, hips shuddering and back arching. The incubus laughed, and thrust up again - hard - to tear another cry from his throat. 

“Ah, now we’re talking. You’re so much more fun than usual, my little brat,” they said, soft, almost affectionate. They snuck their free arm around Raphael to pull him back against their chest, pinching a nipple. “But oh, aren’t we terrible hosts. I should have told you to make yourself at home, little mouse. Feel free to slip out of that armor. It looks so uncomfortable.” A pause, a tilt of their head. “And unflattering, if I may.”

Tav allowed one more kiss on the inside of Raphael's thigh and stood, just a little unsteady. She began undoing the clasps with a huff. “The point of an armor isn’t to be flattering,” she muttered, letting the parts drop on the floor and trying not to look in Raphael’s direction just yet. “It’s to keep pointy things from skewering you.”

“Oh, then you should definitely take it off now.”

“... Guess I walked into that one.” 

The last of Tav’s underclothes were dropped on the floor, and only then did she look back at Haarlep and Raphael. The incubus had pulled their fingers out of Raphael’s mouth and was smiling, eyes running over her body. Not a lot there for them to see, to be entirely honest; she’d always been about as shapely as a wooden board. 

On one of the last nights they’d spent together, Misza had joked that she had curves enough for them both, and pretended to smother her against her breast. They had laughed like idiots, and that was when Tav had decided she should put a ring on it, before someone else snatched her up. And she’d been snatched all right, but down, down into the Hells along with the entire city and--

A lump threatened to form in her throat and Tav forced it away, pushing memories of better times in the back of her mind, where dead things lingered amidst the ruins of Elturel. Dead, charred things. Her mother and father and all her little siblings, and the woman she’d wanted to propose to once she returned from her time in the countryside, where she had gone to learn how to better control her wild magic. 

But she’d returned to find a crater where Elturel once was; while the city re-emerged from the Hells in the end, many of its inhabitants didn’t live to see the sky again. She had buried the only body she could recognize, her youngest brother with his owlbear plush toy still in his arms. Then the ring meant for Misza had been sold for passage to Baldur’s Gate and she’d left, long before the surviving citizens cast out all remaining tieflings among them.

“Are you well, little mouse?” Haarlep’s voice snapped her out of it, and they spoke slower, their gaze more focused, a hint of a frown across their features. 

Tav met their gaze, and smiled. She had plenty of reasons to smile. They were all gone, but she was still around and so was Zariel, who’d had the city dragged into Avernus. Zariel, who would never surrender her throne without a fight. Zariel, whose days as archdevil would be numbered if Raphael got his way - and he would, as long as she could secure a few clauses. She’d happily be the key to Raphael’s future kingdom, then. 

After all, he was her key to Zariel’s bloody demise. It was a fair exchange. He just didn’t need to know that. 

“Just admiring the sights,” she said, and looked back at the devil she was getting to know a damn lot better than before. Raphael had shut his eyes, brow furrowed and breathing fast, clearly trying to regain some semblance of control. And that, she knew, would not do. The less in control he was, the more chances she had to turn the negotiations her way. 

So she pushed aside hesitation, strode to the bed, and tilted up Raphael’s face. He blinked his eyes open, as though startled by the touch, and swallowed. “The crown,” he breathed, and Tav smiled. Her other hand went down to her folds, two fingers slipping in and coming out slick and glistening. She pressed them to Raphael’s mouth and he parted his lips to let them in, eyes falling shut with a shiver. His tongue felt too warm, too, and Tav licked her lips. 

“Yes,” she rasped, pushing him against Haarlep’s chest. The incubus leaned back, arms braced on the mattress behind them, and Raphael could only tilt back against them, groaning at the shift of the cock inside him. Tav straddled him, letting his erection barely brush against her labia, just enough to let him feel how warm she was, and how wet. His breath hitched, eyes fluttering open, and she smiled again. “Let’s talk about the crown I’m going to place on your head. I’d like to see you with that on. Just the crown.” 

A hand through his hair, the press of lips against his own, and Raphel’s hands gripped her sides hard enough to bruise, pulling her flush against him, chest to chest. She blinked, taken aback, but then she felt him part his lips to let her tongue in and ah, may as well. She kissed him, more roughly and a good deal more enthusiastically than she had originally planned. 

“I think he likes us,” she recalled Astarion saying, and she recalled her reply just as well.

"I like him too, but I'd never say it to his smarmy face."

Well. She was not saying anything of the sort, and he didn’t look all that smarmy anymore, so her point still stood. She heard, dimly, Haarlep’s throaty chuckle. 

“This one’s eager, pet. Didn’t even need my saliva to help along.”

There was something that sounded very much like a growl deep in Raphael’s chest, and he pulled away from Tav’s mouth to turn and snap at Haarlep to be quiet. Or try to, because it took the incubus only a jolt of their hips for his words to turn into a moan.

“You be quiet, little brat. You’re no one’s master tonight, remember?” they whispered against his ear, and smiled at Tav over his shoulder. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, by the way. I’m always telling Raphael he should introduce me to his friends more often. Alas, he expressly forbade me to play with you. Never seen him get this jealous.”

“That’s not--” Raphael gasped, and Haarlep silenced him with a few swift thrusts. Still straddling Raphael, Tav grasped his shoulders to avoid being thrown off; his cock rubbed against her folds, only for a moment, but it tore a gasp from her and a moan from Raphael. He dropped his forehead against Tav’s shoulder, gasping, and Tav cupped the back of his head without thinking, stroked down the back of his neck before she finally, finally , allowed herself to sink down on him. 

“Oh…” A sigh, and she closed her eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling, the stretch. She was wet and he slid in so easily, so deep. Was it supposed to feel that warm? Was it a devil thing? Did it matter? Probably not; it felt good either way. Against her skin, Raphael let out an incoherent noise and grasped her again, pulling her close.

Don’t worry, I’m going nowhere, she almost said, but what left her mouth was quite different.

“This is going to be quite a tale,” she groaned, her voice rough, and rocked her hips. “That I bedded the archdevil supreme. No one’s going to believe me.”

A shudder, and there was no telling what had caused it - the heat of her around him, her movements, or her words. Either way, he pulled back enough to look at her. There it was, in the midst of pleasure - that hungry look again. “You shall give me the crown,” he rasped, and Tav smiled.

“I want to give you the crown just as much as you want to put an end to the Grand Design. But like you, I have conditions.” A kiss, deep, a slow tilt of her hips. Haarlep moved again beneath them, inside Raphael, and somehow it was easy to match their movements, find the right rhythm. Raphael’s breaths came in shuddering gasps, but he did not call for either of them to stop. “So I have come with a counteroffer.”

A scoff. “There is no counteroffer to be-- made,” he groaned through clenched teeth. 

A smile, a kiss. “You forget,” Tav whispered against his lips, rocking slowly, “that I have a backup plan, and you do not.”

“Trusting-- ah-- an Illithid is no plan. It’s sheer-- ngh-- idiocy.”

“Ah, but I thrive on idiocy. Idiocy got me this far.” She stilled, clenched around him, and muffled the noise that got out of him with another kiss. “It might just carry me a little further. If the Emperor can help us destroy the Netherbrain, with or without Orpheus - and you know he can - then we’ll have no reason to give you the crown. Why risk it all without hearing me out?” A light bite on his lower lip. “You’ll find my requests more than reasonable.”

Raphael scowled, but he tilted back his head against Haarlep’s shoulder, and closed his eyes. When she leaned in to nip at his throat, she felt him swallow. “... What are your requests?” he finally groaned.

Well, this is it. Best to start small.

“There are two requests that you can satisfy with little more than a snap of your fingers, I’m sure. Two of my companions carry their doom in their chests. I know that with the Crown of Karsus, you can remove the orb from Gale quite readily - and without harming him. And someone capable of creating the Orphic Hammer surely knows how to fix an infernal engine so it can work on this plane without killing its bearer.”

A low, breathy chuckle. “Of course. These will be trivial matters to me.”

“So is that something you’d be willing to add to the contract?”

“Consider it done. Will that-- ah-- ” Raphael trailed off for a moment, trembling, before he caught his voice again. “Will that be all?”

“Not quite. I want to make it clear that no soul but mine will be involved.” She ground against him, hard, and grasped his chin to make sure he’d look at her. His eyes opened, wide and dark, to meet hers. “The crown for the hammer, and for your help for Gale and Karlach, with my soul - mine alone - as the collateral if I fail to deliver the crown. If I deliver it to you, as I intend to, my soul will remain my own.”

Tav watched Raphael’s brow furrow, watched him think it over with as much difficulty one can experience while being fucked by an incubus and a woman at the same time, and finally watched him jerk his head in a nod. “Yes, that is-- ah-- reasonable,” he panted. His hands ran down her back, down her sides, and stopped on her thighs. “Will that-- be all?”

“Not quite.” A kiss, rough. “Another collateral seems fair. You said you’ll limit your rule to the Nine Hells of Baator.”

“And I shall,” Raphael replied, trying to bite her lip, but she was too quick to pull back. She smiled, brushing a hand down his chest, down his stomach, almost to the point where their bodies joined. Her fingers brushed against his shaft, causing him to shudder.

“I want that in writing, binding you to relinquish the crown’s ownership to Mystra if you break the clause.” 

As she had very much expected, Raphael stilled beneath her. He glowered, anger crossing his features even through the daze of pleasure. “No,” he all but growled, and seemed about to add something - but Haarlep rocked into him harder than before, Tav clenched around him, and his voice broke into a groan. Haarlep winked at her; it cost Tav some effort not to openly smile back.

If she succeeded in her mission, she would probably owe the incubus a favor. Oh well. Something could be worked out, surely. 

“No?” she repeated, all fake innocence. She cupped Raphael’s cheek, looking at him in the eye. Her thumb brushed over his lips. “But you have already pledged to keep to the Hells. Putting that in writing should be no trouble at all. Why would it be?”

Because he’d had no intention whatsoever to be true to that pledge, was the obvious answer, but it wasn’t something he could admit without showing his hand. She knew it, he knew it, and he was livid about it. 

… Not livid enough to push her off him, however. She took note of that while waiting for a response. She watched him clench his jaw, then make an effort to smooth his expression. 

“It rather hurts,” he rasped, voice so low, “to see my word doesn’t carry enough weight for you.”

Tav couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “No one’s word does.” She leaned in to kiss the bridge of his nose. “ Verba volant, scripta manent. You of all people would know what that means. You’d be a poor devil indeed, not to take advantage of the lack of a written clause. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t at least try, and you have never disappointed so far.”

He still scowled, but when she pulled back he reached to grasp her head, to pull her mouth back on his. It was a rough, devouring kiss - the first such initiative from his part - and she yielded to it immediately. She sighed into his mouth, wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her hips again, pressing him down on Haarlep with her meager weight. She swallowed his groan, and shuddered when he bit into her lower lip - not hard enough to draw blood but oh, almost. For a few moments all she could hear was his panting breath, her own thumping heart, and the slick noises they made as she rocked against him again. 

And then, finally, a groan. “... Very well,” he rasped. “It will be clearly stated in the contract--”

“Which will be written in common tongue,” she cut him off. “For me to ready before I sign. With a copy for me to keep.”

This time, she felt the frustrated growl in his chest more than she heard it. His hands, which had been going down her spine, stilled. “Infernal contracts,” he bit out, obviously short on breath, “are meant to be written in Infernal. It’s very much in the name, little mouse.”

Tav leaned her cheek on his shoulder, and bit at his earlobe. “A certified translation, then, with witnesses,” she panted. He felt hot to the touch and so did she, unbearably so, skin slick with sweat. Still she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. Cherries and musk, yes, and despite the lingering sulfur it was sweet, sweet, intoxicating. Pressure was building up, white-hot. She had to bite her lower lip not to moan. “A-- and a clause that makes the contract null and void-- if the translation differs in any way,” she managed. 

Another groan, part frustration and part arousal, as he shuddered beneath her. “This is-- not the norm, with any contract--”

“But this isn’t any contract, Raphael.” She pulled back, despite the tight grasp around her, to press a kiss against his lips. “This is the one that will make you the archdevil supreme of all Baator.”

“I’ve extended-- more than enough grace--”

“I only want guarantees for what you already promised.” Tav cut him off, and smiled against his lips before pulling away, arching her back. To her satisfaction, Raphael had to bite his lips to silence a moan. She placed both hands on his chest, and rocked her hips. She was close - Gods, was she close - and he was still hard within her, so warm, unable to finish. 

“Contracts can be changed, if both parties agree,” she managed through ragged breaths. “The ruler of all Hells may yet convince me to revise it.” Absolutely not, but you’re welcome to try. If I truly can take that crown from a Netherbrain I’ll be able to take it from you, if I must. “And you’ll have plenty of time to do so. I’ll come to the Hells and join your war.” Let me be the one to cut down Zariel, and I’ll follow you to the Ninth. “We can make-- a separate contract, if you like. I won’t leave until I see you sit on Asmodeus’ throne.”

For a moment, Raphael truly seemed at a loss for words. He stared, eyes wide, as though struggling to make sense of what he’d just heard. Even his grip on her hips slackened. “You-- I--”

“Oh, please let her come over. She’s fun. We could use some fun.”

Haarlep’s voice caused him to recoil, as though he’d somehow forgotten about their presence despite the cock buried inside him. Though come to think of it, Tav hadn’t felt Haarlep move for… several minutes, at least. 

“You-- this is none of your concern, incubus-- and why did you stop? ” Raphael bit out, turning to glare at the incubus in question. They were leaning back on their elbows, head tilted, and grinned widely before thrusting upwards in a smooth motion. Raphael shuddered, and pressed his mouth against Tav’s shoulder to muffle a groan. 

“Ah, my apologies. The two of you were such a fun spectacle to watch,” Haarlep muttered, and sat up, chest once again pressing against Raphael’s back. “You want to finish, don’t you, little brat?” Another upward thrust, another moan against Tav’s skin. “Then wrap up the conversation, pet. It’s impolite to keep a lady waiting for an answer.”

A growl, and Raphael lifted his head to look Tav in the eyes. Shortly after their first meeting, she recalled Gale claiming he’d seen a spark of Hellfire in his eyes. She’d thought he was just being dramatic at the time, but now, up close… oh, she could see it too, and more than a spark. It made her breath catch, pleasure coiling in her loins. Her grip on his shoulders tightened when he spoke, his voice low. 

“... Very well. But you will get me that crown, little mouse. If you refuse, I will have your soul. If you fail to get it for me and die, I’ll still have your soul. Am I clear?”

A nod, a shuddering breath. “Yes,” she managed. “That sounds-- ah-- fair.”

“We have-- a deal, then,” Raphael breathed, and Tav claimed his lips again. Negotiations concluded, she could finally let go of the last shreds of self control and ride him in earnest, grinding hard against him. Her ears were buzzing and all her limbs felt so heavy and so light all of a sudden, her body flushing hot and cold at the same time. 

Distantly, she heard Haarlep laugh, and Raphael cry out. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how that had to feel for him, with both her and Haarlep moving fast and hard, around him and inside him, keeping him trapped between them as they took their pleasure, unable to move and helplessly feeling it all. 

Later, Tav wouldn't know for how long it went on. Too long, probably. Not long enough, surely. She teetered on the edge of orgasm and she was sure she’d break, but she did not. Or at least, she was not the first to break.

“Haarlep--” Raphael cried out against Tav’s neck, and something suspiciously like a sob wracked his body; the face pressed against her skin felt too wet for it to be just sweat. The incubus let out a low, rumbling chuckle. Tav felt their hand slip between them, down Raphael’s stomach and then lower, the back of it barely brushing against her as the fingers toyed with the ring at the base of Raphael’s cock. 

“You want it off, don’t you, little duke?”

“Yes-- yes-- ”

“Beg.”

Another sob, and something dripped down Tav’s neck, down her shoulder. Raphael’s arms were gripping her tightly, as if he was desperately trying to ground himself to something. “Please,” he choked out, and somehow the desperation in his voice was what finally pushed Tav over the edge.

The orgasm was almost blinding, mind-numbing in its intensity, wave after wave of pleasure up her spine. She clenched around him and shuddered hard enough she almost thought, for a moment, that she might seize and die. What a way to go, she thought, barely coherent, holding onto the only Raphael for dear life. A hell of a way to go. If her heart stopped now, she wasn’t sure she’d have complaints.

She never had to find out, though, because her heart did not stop. It kept beating wildly in her chest when her shudders died down and she went limp against Raphael, panting, head spinning. Against her ear, Raphael keened. 

“Please!”

A chuckle, and now even the incubus sounded breathless. “Good boy,” they said, and reached down again. Tav did not see or feel what they did, but suddenly the ring was gone and Raphael muffled a cry against her, his entire body shuddering. And maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her, but Tav could have sworn even his come felt warmer than it had any right to be. She clenched around him reflexively, still mostly spent, and Raphael trembled before he, too, went limp.

“There, little brat. Take it,” Haarlep was murmuring, and thrust their hips upwards one last time before stilling and closing their eyes with a long, pleased sigh. “Oh, this was so much better than usual…”

They said something else, probably, but Tav was beyond hearing it. She must have blacked out, or something like it, because it felt as though she’d only blinked and then she opened her eyes to find herself leaning on her side on the bed, empty and panting, a sticky and cooling mess on the inside of her thighs. She was vaguely aware of the fact Haarlep was sitting at the foot of the bed, saying something about the pool in the next room; but she didn’t look up, couldn’t lift her head.

And neither, it seemed, could Raphael. He was still holding onto her, face wet and burrowed against her throat, breathing ragged. His frame trembled; she reached to brush his hair back without thinking, nails scraping gently against his scalp. She wasn’t sure how long she did that, mind empty of all thought, but eventually their breathing slowed, his trembling subsided. Her fingers tangled once more in Raphael’s hair and did not move again. He remained still, too, his breathing slow and steady against her skin. 

Tav closed her eyes, and let herself fall into nothingness. Somewhere in that darkness on the brink of sleep she saw the Crown of Karsus on Raphael’s head, saw Zariel’s broken body at his feet, saw her head in her hands.

And she smiled.

***

[Back to Act I]

[On to Act III]

#bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 raphael #bg3 haarlep #tiefling tav #female tav #raphael bg3 #deal in three acts

[hippolotamus]

✨2023 writing round-up✨

Writing Round-Up: Share what you wrote this year! It can be works you posted to Ao3, Wattpad, Tumblr, or anywhere else! You can share everything you wrote or just the ones your most excited about.

2023 saw me writing a lot of unexpected and new things! It's been a unique year in the Hippoverse to say the least. Going to highlight some of my favs as well as things that never made it to AO3 💖 Putting it all under the cut to save your dash 😘

January

you spoke to me so sweetly | 2.6k | E (Twylexis)

aka the fic I wrote before shit got real

Alexis hums her appreciation, letting her eyes fall closed while Twyla repeats the circuitous route, and breathing in the blend of lavender and lemon oil her wife insisted upon for “calm and good luck”. The temporary serenity only lasts for three or four passes until a light knock at the door interrupts. She doesn’t try to hide her instant pout when the gentle pressure disappears and she’s forced to open her eyes again. Dr. Rist breezes inside, far too perky in Alexis’s opinion. Perhaps it’s a good sign. Despite her nerves, Alexis plasters her PR smile on, and clasps Twyla’s hand – the only tell she’ll allow to indicate she’s worried while they wait to find out what kind of life changing the appointment will be. “Well,” Dr. Rist says. “Alexis. Twyla. Sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s begin, shall we?”

tumblr prompt fill for but I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years day featuring David and Stevie -

Stevie turns her head and he’s very uninterested in the look on her face, what it might mean. He’s only seen it once before - in the low light of her messy apartment - which is why he’s positive she’s about to drop a bomb on him. Something that preemptively makes his insides twist. It’s too much for getting high and laying out on the roof of the high school.

March

all in the Jee-tails | 4.5k | T (Buddie)

Okay. Just a little turn aaaand- yes. Alright, only one more to go. You got this, Buckley. Buck watches with fascination as the sewing machine’s needle dips and resurfaces, piercing the shimmery blue fabric. A wave of satisfaction and pride washes over him when the final stitches meet seamlessly with the beginning ones. For only putting in minimal effort during Family & Consumer Sciences, he’s impressed with his handiwork. He eases his foot off the pedal and snips the thread, freeing his creation so he can try it on. Ever since Jee watched Sleeping Beauty and Shrek for the first time she’s become obsessed with all things fantasy. Much to Maddie, Chim and Eddie’s amusement, Buck couldn’t help himself from buying her a sparkly dress (or three), as well as a tiara fit for pint-sized royalty. Of course, once she had her clothes to play dress up, she needed a fearsome beast to battle. And, well, how was Buck supposed to be an effective dragon without his own wings? OR There is a Princess, Knight, Dragon, Wizard and Damsel in Distress and there is nothing Uncle Buck won't do for his niece.

NGL I absolutely adore this one. I had a blast writing it and assigning roles to the Han-Buckley-Diaz family.

I'm reaching for you, terrified | Buddie tumblr post

I’m leaving the 118. Buck has had his oxygen tank run out, he’s been caught in more natural disasters than he’d prefer, and trapped under a ladder truck. Among other things. Those agonizing memories pale in comparison to what he feels now, hearing Eddie’s announcement. He’s a mix of breathless and numb and tingling pinpricks dancing over his skin. Of too much and not enough and loss. 

May

I know all your secrets | 4.6k | E (David/Patrick)

A fic I originally published in 2022 but added a much needed chapter to

Patrick grins, noting the warm, spicy scent filling the spaces between them. It should make him wary, but that sensation stopped long ago, replaced by want and lust. “Rose, we meet again.” “So we do,” David purrs in response. “I hope you’ve been well since Denmark.” Patrick traces a finger over the curves he’s become so accustomed to, feeling the sleek mother-of-pearl buttons under his skin until he hooks onto the V of the single-breasted tuxedo jacket. “Never better. Should we exchange the usual my country wants you dead pleasantries first or is foreplay off the menu tonight?” or the AU where Agents Brewer and Rose are rival spies who can't seem to stay away from each other

June

the only thing that matters now (is everything) | 882 | G (Twylexis)

aka the fic I wrote after shit got real

Alexis combs her fingers through her hair, letting manicured nails lightly scratch along her scalp while she stares at the ceiling. Golden wavy strands glide between her fingertips before dropping back to the pillow, a feeling she wants to take advantage of while she can. The self-soothing act had always calmed her as a little girl. Tonight she’s not exactly troubled, but ever since the tests came back, and the immediate future is wrapped in so much uncertainty, she’s found herself doing it more often. Beyond the sliver of moonlight spilling through the window, painting an ethereal line across the carpet and over the blankets, she doesn’t know what time it is. Only that it’s still night, and dawn could be minutes or hours away. Patrick, with all his lil’ nature skills, would probably know without having to look at a clock. She’ll have to ask next time they talk. ---------------------- A future fic that leaves Alexis pondering life put on hold by the unexpected

October

A lil teen Eddie sneaking out to look at the stars tumblr post

November

if this love is pain (let's hurt tonight) | 3.2k | T Buddie

a foray into angsty writing

Eddie knows it’s him immediately. Feels the weight of his presence like a favorite coat that doesn’t quite fit anymore. Of course he does. Try as he might, Eddie will never not know when Buck is nearby. They are too intertwined. Had become too embedded in each other’s lives before- well, before everything. Before death doulas and school projects, lightning strikes and gunshots, poker games and treasure hunts. Long before Christopher graduated high school, Bobby retired and Hen became captain, and Buck… disappeared. One day he and Buck were moving Christopher into his dorm room, laughing and making plans to send care packages from themselves and Tía Pepa. And the next Eddie felt like he was reliving I need some time too all over again. OR After Chris leaves for college Buck mysteriously disappears. Five years later he finally returns with some answers.

stay here honey (i don't wanna share) | 1.8k | E Lutalia

baby's first Lutalia fic!

This – laying around cuddling after sex – isn’t their usual arrangement. Not like they have a usual arrangement. The only constant is one of them needing to blow off some steam and sending a text that sometimes only consists of a question mark. Then they fuck wherever is most convenient, whether that’s a car, motel room or, on at least one occasion, Nat’s office. Once in a while, like tonight, they both have the time and coordination to meet at one of their apartments, although it’s a scenario they tend to use infrequently for the purposes of keeping things casual. OR Natalia helps soothe Lucy after a rough shift

December

Buddie-ish prompt fill for @steadfastsaturnsrings - Eddie doesn’t remember hanging up the phone, or locking the door. He doesn’t remember grabbing the baseball bat that he keeps under his bed in case someone breaks in. Or where his reign of terror began. He supposes he swung for the first thing within reach and didn’t stop until there was nothing left his brain recognized as destructible. 

Buddie prompt fill for @statueinthestone (also added to the WIP pile to explore later) - Buck doesn’t remember exactly when the dreams started, just that it was sometime during his 1.0 phase. Like his subconscious realized before he did that sleeping around wasn’t cutting it. That he craved something deeper and more complex than purely physical relationships.

Fellow Travelers prompt fill for @vanillahigh00 - The words are a balm as much as they are a cut. A stabbing reminder of everything Tim can’t have. Could never have, really. Hawk was never his to keep. And as impossible as their love was before, it’s even more so now. Because Hawk belongs to Lucy. He’s a family man, a paragon of virtue within his world. Even if it’s all a lie.

Miscellaneous (edits and other things)

shall i write it in a letter? - Buckley-Diaz Family edit

And there's this boy... Buddie edit

Offering original poem

Adulting Gold Stars (part 2)

Poker Date Buddie edit

Now & Then Buddie edit

TG:M Buddie edit (is it the most amazing thing ever? not particularly but it was my first so you get it too)

London Boy Oliver edit

tagged by @exhuastedpigeon @thekristen999 @wikiangela

no pressure tagging mi amor @disasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 @buddierights @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @spotsandsocks @elvensorceress @stereopticons @blackandwhiteandrose LOML @lizzie-bennetdarcy @apothecarose @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @jesuisici33 @statueinthestone @pirrusstuff @daffi-990 @watchyourbuck @jamespearce9-1-1 @vanillahigh00 @malewifediaz @chaosandwolves @heartshapedvows @hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @gayedmundodiaz @honestlydarkprincess @giddyupbuck @eowon @spagheddiediaz @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @spaceprincessem @fionaswhvre @barbiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @lemonzestywrites and of course anyone else who wants to share

#i uh did a lot this year #and this isn't even everything #pretty damn proud of myself actually #2023 writing round up #hippo writes #hippo makes things #twylexis fic #lutalia fic #buddie fic #buddieedit #buckley diaz family

[sulumuns-dootah]

24.12. Bimet - Shopping

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⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

₊˚⊹.* The Yule festival of Hell *.⊹˚₊

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“Look at that hobo over there, he's carrying only three bags and from the cheapest stores from this mall.” Bimet growls and points at some demon in the crowd. He's been this negatively focused the whole day. Of course this was to be expected since you've been shopping and witnessing many demons go borderline broke from buying expensive gifts all day.

“Maybe it's for people he doesn't care as much about. I'll be also giving some demons key chains so they know I didn't fully forget about them.” you shrug and focus your attention on which store you'll go next to. There is one, but you need to get Bimet busy so he doesn't see what you're purchasing nor which store it even is.

“Then he should buy something even more expensive to show them how superior he is. Just like I am getting something more expensive for Eligos.” he scoffs.

“Bimet, do you have a gift for me already?” you cut the chase, because you don't think any good opportunity to get Bimet distracted would arise.

“Why are you asking now? Do you think that I would get you something cheap because I like you? Or are you jealous I would give Eligos something more expensive than you?” his head snaps towards you.

“No, not at all... It's just that I ordered one for you and haven't had the time to pick it up, so I was thinking if you don't have one you could go get me something and i'll pick up mine in the meantime.”

“Oh... I do have something for you, but I suppose I could also get you something else, too. If you promise your gift to me will be worth it.” Bimet thinks about it shortly, most likely pondering what else he'll buy for you.

“Don't worry, it's a gift that'll keep on giving.” you wink mischievously and kiss the wealthy demon's cheek as a temporary goodbye.

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Finally reaching the store, you do have some doubts if Bimet's expectations might be a bit higher and your actual gift will be a let down for him. But you were still proud of coming up with the idea and finding someone to make it real for you.

The lady at the counter pulls out the short dress made from money out of the box and asks you if this is what you've wanted or if she can somehow alter it. The dress also has a matching money underwear. You express your excitement over the set and proceed further into the store to find some matching thigh highs as well as some less exciting underwear since you're here.

Grabbing the store brand bags and leaving a tip for the assistant you leave the store and go look for Bimet. Hopefully he'll like this gift of yours, afterall he does like you and loves money.

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But wait, this demon also has a gift for you!

"I think it's about time you start saving money more. If you do it my way, you might soon even be more wealthy than me."

#what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad? #whb bimet #the yule festival of hell

[maple-the-awesome]

That Damned Devil ||

Pairing: Matt Murdock x GN Reader

Words: 3,111

Overview: Matt knows it's petty to be jealous especially given who the 'other man' is, but he also can't help himself when you just won't shut up about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Warning: Small mentions of violent/mugging

Marvel Masterlist 🤎 Fandom Masterlist 🤎 Requests

"You've seen this, right?"

There's a flick of heavy paper mere inches away from Matt's face, drawing him to move his head upwards to acknowledge your presence from where you stand in front of his desk. A smirk pulls at the edge of his lips.

"You know I can't see that," while he might not be able to see the paper's contents, he doesn't need sight to know that you're rolling your eyes.

"Heard, seen- whatever! Karen reads the newspaper aloud every morning, does she not? So you at least know what it says," you lift yourself to sit on the edge of the desk, the paper crinkling in your hands as you give it nearly all your attention.

Matt only finds the need to hum while leaning back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other and his hands folded lazily on his lap. Of course he knows what the paper says and he also knows what you're about to say about it, but frankly, he doesn’t care to hear it. Nevertheless, if he dismisses you now, you'll leave in a pout and he'd rather bite on his own sour annoyance than loose even a second of time around you.

As predicated, it doesn't take long before you begin gushing," isn't it wonderful to have our own personal superhero here in Hell's Kitchen-?"

"-I wouldn't say he's a superhero."

"He could be, though. I mean, he has to have some sort of power to take out the number of badies that he does."

"That or he's just plain strong."

"You think so?" You blink, studying the blurry picture printed on the front of the newspaper. The photographer had only just managed to capture Daredevil as he disappeared off some building above a recent crime scene," I suppose he does look like he could have a lot of muscle under that suit."

Matt only presses his lips together in a thin line.

"Well, either way, he's a hero. He managed to save that little girl before the police could even finish the missing person's report! If it weren't for him, who knows what would've happened to that poor thing. I bet she's more than grateful. I sure would be. If anything ever happens to me, I hope Daredevil will come save me; I know I'd be safe then."

"Let's hope it never comes to that," there's a skip to your heartbeat, one that causes him to curse internally at the realization that his words packed more venom than intended. He can't help it. Not only do your praises leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but so does your body's reaction.

Every time you discuss Daredevil, your heartbeat increases and heat races to your cheeks as you tend to fidget with whatever you can. In this case, you keep curling the corners of the newspaper. It feels Matt's stomach with envy, which is utterly ridiculous because he's Daredevil. They're one in the same so if anything he should be happy to have you obsess over his alter ego instead of someone else. Maybe that's the problem; you don't know it's Matt. To you, you are obsessing over someone else, completely unaware that the person of your interest is sitting within arms length.

Before you can acknowledge the clear irritation mixed in his voice, Matt sits up quickly and basically smacks his hand against the braille papers lining his desk," has Foggy come back yet? I need to talk to him about this case."

Of course he knows Foggy isn't back from his coffee run, but it's a change in subject; a distraction.

"No, you know he likes to flirt with that barista," you answer, striking temporary hope in Matt before it's immediately demolished by your next words," do you think Daredevil is okay after last night?"

He tries not to sigh," why wouldn't he be?"

"Well according to witness testimonies, he seemed pretty battered. He did take on an entire gang of traffickers after all," Matt can feel your eyes burning into him, causing him to bow his head more while pretending to read the paper under his touch. He prays his hair and the shadows of the room are doing enough to cover that nasty cut above his left eyebrow and the deep bruise along his cheekbone. You've already asked him about them this morning, no need for you to bring them up again; not now.

"I'm sure he's fine. Aren't you the one who said he's a superhero?"

"Regardless, anyone can be hurt…I really hope he's okay and has someone to help with his injuries, you know? 'can't be nice getting beat up doing good for the city only to go home alone," there's a soft kindness to your words making Matt's heart ache. It's not your fault, but rather his. He shouldn't let himself be tricked on the idea that you're worried about him. In truth, you're only worried about that damned Daredevil, not Matthew Murdock.

"Listen, I have a lot of paperwork to get through right now and I don't really have time for distractions. Can't we talk about...whatever this is some other time?" Matt sits back once again, rubbing his face with one hand which lifts his glasses slightly off his face before they fall back into place over his nose.

You frown, this time noticing the annoyance that rises with every word from him. Shamefully, you push yourself off his desk with a slow nod, making sure to gather your newspaper too," yeah...yeah, of course...Sorry, I'll, um...I'll tell Foggy to talk to you when he gets back."

It breaks Matt's heart to hear that pounding in your chest. Unlike the joyful uplift that follows your thoughts about Daredevil, his own words- the words of your friend and colleague- made the beating rushed and nervous; sad even. Once again, he's made you sad as he always seems to manage, but it's never with ill intent.

He can't help that growing irrational jealousy he feels whenever you go on about your beloved Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Each conversation fills Matt with the desire to have you talk about him, Matthew Murdock, in the same way. Hell, he's even gotten desperate enough to ask Foggy if you ever talk about him when he's not at the office, but alas, you're tight lipped with your only topic surrounding Daredevil…Of course, you're in love with the shadow of the man who actually returns your affections. How ironic.

After taking such a beating the night before, Matt's bones ache in the chill of tonight's air which is no better up on top the building's roof than it is at ground level. Perhaps it would've been wiser to go with Foggy to Josie's instead of that just being some stupid excuse he gave you when you had asked about his plans after work. He admits that he dodged the question a bit too roughly, making you off-put as you mumbled something about checking out a new restaurant in Hudson Yards.

"That sounds fun."

What kind of response is that? He didn't even bother asking why you were going. You never go to fancy restaurants on your own which means you must be going with someone else and had been prompting Matt to ask further questions. Instead, the topic has only recently become a concern of his, making his mind spin so much so that he may or may not be standing on a rooftop a street down from the restaurant in question, listening to see if he can't catch any hints as to who you're with.

He's not stalking you, let that be known. Matt Murdock is no stalker. He's just a worried friend who wants to check up on you while he's in the area. It's a slow night and the restaurant's only a quarter mile outside of Hell's Kitchen, so he has the time on his hands.

He can't deny that small bubble of joy in his chest when hearing you alone, playing games on your phone while waiting for the waiter to bring you the to-go order you made, although, it does make Matt confused. Why did you make an effort of telling him about the restaurant if you were only going to get to-go?

You leave the restaurant with the bag in hand, your pace unrushed as you make your way to the bus stop. If Matt didn't know any better, he'd say you seem down in spirits by the way you drag your feet and sigh to yourself, but he excuses this as you being tired from such a long work day.

Either way, he plans to keep an ear tied to your movements until you reach the safety of the stop, however, his attention is temporarily divided by the sound of quickened heartbeats following a few feet behind in your wake.

Three men with stocky builds track after you, keeping a safe distance until picking up their pace once entering a stretch of street with no eyes. Matt knows you sense them by that point as well, so much being clear by the way you keep turning to glance over your shoulder and begin to walk faster with your phone clenched in hand.

You bring the phone to your ear, hopelessly listening to the endless buzzing before the sound turns into a familiar voicemail. You're calling him, but of course he doesn't carry his phone when defending the streets of Hell's Kitchen. Personal belongings just defeat the whole secret identity thing.

Despite the voicemail sending a worried chill down your spine, you speak as if knowing Matt can actually hear you and that the men behind you are deaf to the fear lacing your voice," Mattie, hey...I'm almost there, just a block away...Wanna start walking in this direction? Meet me halfway?"

Luckily for you, while you might not realize it and while Matt himself may not have answered, Daredevil can hear you and wordlessly agrees to your request, making his way across the rooftops to the end of the block.

In the meantime, you keep your phone close, feeling nauseous when knowing the men are gaining. A part of you debates calling Foggy or Karen, but then they would realize no one answered the first time. They'd know you're vulnerable for a long enough stretch of time for them to get what they want.

As you fear, regardless of your efforts of speeding up or pretending to have someone else nearby, one of the men suddenly grabs hold of your wrist, harshly tugging you back as you scream. Effortlessly, he manages to pin you back against the building wall, your phone dropping and shattering on the ground along with your to-go bag.

The man holds a heavy hand against your mouth, keeping your cries muffled while his friend comes up at his side, pointing a gun dangerously close to your head as he demands money. When the hand is removed to let you speak, you desperately shake your head," I-I don't have anything on me!"

"Bullshit! We saw you just leave that restaurant!"

"I prepaid!" It's not a lie. You try not to carry money on you if you don't have to, but the thieves clearly don't believe you.

The third man begins pulling at your pockets, flipping them inside out to ensure you truly have nothing hidden. When finally noticing you're telling the truth, the first man curses under his breath," you tellin’ me we did this shit for nothin'!”

“What do we do? We can't just leave 'em. We'll get identified!"

"Yeah, you' right," their buddy agrees, pointing the gun back towards you which causes you to squeeze your eyes closed, crying out a plea for your life despite how helpless it seems in the moment.

You flinch when hearing the gun go off, but instead of feeling immense pain, you feel the pressure from your arms leave. When the men scream, you blink open an eye to see the man with the gun having his arm be twisted backwards by none other than Daredevil before being slammed against the wall beside you with such a force you're sure it breaks his jaw and wrist.

The other men shout, running to defend their friend only for Daredevil to roundhouse kick the first and break the nose of the second with a solid punch, effortlessly knocking the wannabe thieves out while you can only watch in shock.

"Are you okay?"

Your chest is heaving at this point which explains why your breathing is completely uneven and radical. It stabs Matt's heart seeing your tears any day, but this...it's too much. Seeing you cry over a date gone wrong or that time you cut yourself picking up broken glass is one poison, but feeling the way your body racks with fear as you slowly collapse to your knees feet away from him...the amount of sorrow and anger that gives him is lethal.

A part of him wishes the three muggers put up more of a fight so that it would've given him more reason to punch and kick the shit out of them to the point that they'd never want to walk down the street again without checking every shadow twice, but what's done is done and while his love for you fuels the endless need to protect you from all harm, it also desires to comfort you in moments of need.

Lowering himself to his knees beside you, his hand gently places itself on your back to begin rubbing circles, but within seconds of his touch, your arms are suddenly thrown around him as you pull yourself to his chest and push your teary face against his shoulder.

Maybe he should've played his role better. Perhaps he should've been more awkward with his touches and stiffened up when you embraced him because to the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, you're just some random citizen; no one he should feel this comfortable and attached to. The problem is, in this moment and regardless of the suit he currently wears, he's Matt Murdock. To Matt, you're his world; someone he savors every ounce of attention he can get from.

His arms twist around you, holding you as close as possible while trying to hush your cries which soon turn into sobbed words.

"I-I was so scared. I thought...I thought you wouldn't get-get here in time!" You inhale, trying to calm your nerves enough to talk straight, although, you're having a difficult time with that after what has just occurred," how'd you even get here so quickly? You were several blocks away."

He raises an eyebrow at this, not understanding what you're implying," I wasn't that far. 'just around the corner."

"But Josie's is back in Hell's Kitchen. You said you were going there with Foggy tonight. Didn't you go?"

“Oh, that? Something came up with Foggy. I-...” Matt's heart skips a beat. His voice freezes within his throat as he replays your words in his head, attempting to connect the fuzzy dots.

“Were you really just going to try and lie your way out of this?” There’s a small hint of a chuckle to your voice as you pull away from him and give a slight tug to the leather of his suit.

“H-How?” He squeaks.

“...I knew it was you, Matthew,” ever so slowly, you reach your touch to his cheekbone,” I’ve known for weeks.

"I'm not an idiot," you'd sound insulted if not for the wavering of your tears," you come to work with a new cut or bruise nearly every day. You say it's because you're blind, but I've never actually seen you run into anything before. I find it hard to believe you manage to bang yourself up so much at your own house but navigate the office like it's an open room.

"You rarely make plans at night and when you do, they're most likely to be canceled. You tend to wrap our firm up in whatever business Daredevil happens to somehow be involved in whether it be Fisk or Frank, you always try to change the subject when talking about Daredevil...I could really keep going on about this."

Matt opens his mouth only to close it once rethinking his next question. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft while his hand instinctively moves to cover yours, holding it to his cheek to further feel your warmth against the chilly wind," then why didn't you say anything?"

Your eyes shift to the side," you always get upset whenever I mention Daredevil I thought-...I figured you must really not want me to catch on- which I understand, of course. It's not like I'm as close to you as Foggy or Karen- I'm assuming they know anyways based on how they act-"

"-It's not that!" He interrupts in a rush before sighing," it was never that I didn't trust you or that I don’t consider us close…If anything, it's because I'm too close to you. As long as you know I'm Daredevil, regardless of whether you keep it a secret, you're at risk. I never want to imagine any harm coming to you, so I never told you. Even then, I was never upset because I thought you were catching on. I just thought you were in love with Daredevil not knowing I'm him. It was infuriating…”

With an absent blink, you move your thumb over his cheek, outlining where his mask meets his skin," well, only part of that observation is true."

"What?"

"I am in love with Daredevil, but only after knowing you're him."

It’s Matt’s turn to blink, catching on to the way your heartbeat has sped up the same way it always does whenever you talk about Daredevil around him; the same way it does when you’re clearly in love…Of course, how could he be so blind in more ways than one?

Realizing the match in rhythm between both of your hearts, he breathes out your name,” would it be appropriate if I took you out to dinner tonight- since your take out got ruined and all?”

You smile, glancing to the to-go box that had been split over the sidewalk,” I’d love to have dinner with you- Matt Murdock, that is.”

There’s mere seconds between the words leaving your mouth and Matt’s lips being pressed against yours, his arms holding you close as yours grip his shoulders.

Even after pulling away, his lips hover over yours, his hot breath blowing against them,” how about that diner around the corner from my apartment? That way I have time to change. After all, I’m sure people might think it’s strange if Daredevil takes you to dinner.”

He kisses you once again, letting you be the one to pull away this time with a chuckle,” you know, people might think it’s equally strange to see me kissing Daredevil?”

“This is New York. I’m sure they’ve seen worse than someone making out with a superhero.”

“...So are you admitting that you are a superhero then?"

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock #marvel #x reader #x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil #mcu #jealous matt murdock